' 


BERTRANDW. 
•SINCLAIFC- 


CORPS 


BIG  TIMBER 


OP  CALIF.   LIBRARY,   LOS  ANGELES 


She,  too,  had  seen  Monohan  seated  on  the  after  deck. 
FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  307. 


BIG  TIMBER 


A  Story  of  the  Northwest 


BY 


BERTRAND  W.  SINCLAIR 

AUTHOR  OF  "NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE,"  ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

DOUGLAS  DUER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,    BROWN,    AND    COMPANY 
1916 


Copyright,   1916, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  August,  1916 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  GREEN    FIELDS    AND    PASTURES    NEW          .          1 

II.  MR.  ABBEY  ARRIVES                                                 16 

III.  HALFWAY  POINT     .          .          .                             25 

IV.  A  FORETASTE  OF  THINGS  TO  COME      .          .        36 

V.  THE  TOLL  OF  BIG  TIMBER         .          .          .51 

VI.  THE  DIGNITY  ( ?)  OF  TOIL         ...        65 

VII.  SOME  NEIGHBORLY  ASSISTANCE           .          .        76 

VIII.     DURANCE  VILE 88 

IX.  JACK   FYFE'S   CAMP          ....        97 

X.     ONE  WAY  OUT 113 

XI.     THE  PLUNGE 127 

XII.  AND  So  THEY  WERE  MARRIED  .          .          .      141 

XIII.  IN  WHICH  EVENTS  MARK  TIME          .          .152 

XIV.  A  CLOSE  CALL  AND  A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE     160 

XV.  A  RESURRECTION     .           .           .           .           .174 

XVI.     THE    CRISIS 182 

XVII.  IN  WHICH  THERE  is  A  FURTHER  CLASH       .      197 

XVIII.  THE  OPENING  GUN          .          .          .          .219 

XIX.  FREE  AS  THE  WIND          ....     238 

XX.     ECHOES 247 

XXI.  AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING       .          .          .     266 

XXII.  THE  FIRE  BEHIND  THE  SMOKE         .          .     279 

XXIII.  A   RIDE    BY   NIGHT          .          .          .          .288 

XXIV.  "OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT  THAT  COVERS  ME"     303 


2132865 


BIG  TIMBER 

CHAPTER  I 

GREEN    FIELDS   AND    PASTURES    NEW 

The  Imperial  Limited  lurched  with  a  swing  around 
the  last  hairpin  curve  of  the  Yale  canyon.  Ahead 
opened  out  a  timbered  valley, —  narrow  on  its  floor, 
flanked  with  bold  mountains,  but  nevertheless  a  val- 
ley,—  down  which  the  rails  lay  straight  and  shining  on 
an  easy  grade.  The  river  that  for  a  hundred  miles  had 
boiled  and  snarled  parallel  to  the  tracks,  roaring 
through  the  granite  sluice  that  cuts  the  Cascade  Range, 
took  a  wider  channel  and  a  leisurely  flow.  The  mad 
haste  had  fallen  from  it  as  haste  falls  from  one  who, 
with  time  to  spare,  sees  his  destination  near  at  hand; 
and  the  turgid  Fraser  had  time  to  spare,  for  now  it 
was  but  threescore  miles  to  tidewater.  So  the  great 
river  moved  placidly  —  as  an  old  man  moves  when  all 
the  headlong  urge  of  youth  is  spent  and  his  race  near 
run. 

On  the  river  side  of  the  first  coach  behind  the  diner, 
Estella  Benton  nursed  her  round  chin  in  the  palm  of 
one  hand,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the  window  sill.  It  was 
a  relief  to  look  over  a  widening  valley  instead  of  a  bare- 


2  BIG   TIMBER 

walled  gorge  all  scarred  with  slides,  to  see  wooded 
heights  lift  green  in  place  of  barren  cliffs,  to  watch 
banks  of  fern  massed  against  the  right  of  way  where 
for  a  day  and  a  night  parched  sagebrush,  brown  tumble- 
weed,  and  such  scant  growth  as  flourished  in  the  arid 
uplands  of  interior  British  Columbia  had  streamed  in 
barren  monotony,  hot  and  dry  and  still. 

She  was  near  the  finish  of  her  journey.  Pensively 
she  considered  the  end  of  the  road.  How  would  it  be 
there?  What  manner  of  folk  and  country?  Between 
her  past  mode  of  life  and  the  new  that  she  was  hurrying 
toward  lay  the  vast  gulf  of  distance,  of  custom,  of  class 
even.  It  was  bound  to  be  crude,  to  be  full  of  incon- 
veniences and  uncouthness.  Her  brother's  letters  had 
partly  prepared  her  for  that.  Involuntarily  she 
shrank  from  it,  had  been  shrinking  from  it  by  fits  and 
starts  all  the  way,  as  flowers  that  thrive  best  in  shady 
nooks  shrink  from  hot  sun  and  rude  winds.  Not  that 
Estella  Benton  was  particularly  flower-like.  On  the 
contrary  she  was  a  healthy,  vigorous-bodied  young 
woman,  scarcely  to  be  described  as  beautiful,  yet  un- 
deniably attractive.  Obviously  a  daughter  of  the  well- 
to-do,  one  of  that  American  type  which  flourishes  in 
families  to  which  American  politicians  unctuously  refer 
as  the  backbone  of  the  nation.  Outwardly,  gazing 
riverward  through  the  dusty  pane,  she  bore  herself 
with  utmost  serenity.  Inwardly  she  was  full  of  mis- 
givings. 

Four  days  of  lonely  travel  across  a  continent,  hear- 
ing the  drumming  clack  of  car  wheels  and  rail  joint 
ninety-six  hours  on  end,  acutely  conscious  that  every 


GREEN    FIELDS  3 

hour  of  the  ninety-six  put  its  due  quota  of  miles  be- 
tween the  known  and  the  unknown,  may  be  either  an 
adventure,  a  bore,  or  a  calamity,  depending  altogether 
upon  the  individual  point  of  view,  upon  conditioning 
circumstances  and  previous  experience. 

Estella  Benton's  experience  along  such  lines  was 
chiefly  a  blank  and  the  conditioning  circumstances  of 
her  present  journey  were  somber  enough  to  breed 
thought  that  verged  upon  the  melancholy.  Save  for 
a  natural  buoyancy  of  spirit  she  might  have  wept  her 
way  across  North  America.  She  had  no  tried  stand- 
ard by  which  to  measure  life's  values  for  she  had  lived 
her  twenty-two  years  wholly  shielded  from  the  human 
maelstrom,  fed,  clothed,  taught,  an  untried  product  of 
home  and  schools.  Her  head  was  full  of  university 
lore,  things  she  had  read,  a  smattering  of  the  arts  and 
philosophy,  liberal  portions  of  academic  knowledge,  all 
tagged  and  sorted  like  parcels  on  a  shelf  to  be  reached 
when  called  for.  Buried  under  these  externalities  the 
ego  of  her  lay  unaroused,  an  incalculable  quantity. 

All  of  which  is  merely  by  way  of  stating  that  Miss 
Estella  Benton  was  a  young  woman  who  had  grown 
up  quite  complacently  in  that  station  of  life  in  which 
—  to  quote  the  Philistines  —  it  had  pleased  God  to 
place  her,  and  that  Chance  had  somehow,  to  her  aston- 
ished dismay,  contrived  to  thrust  a  spoke  in  the  smooth- 
rolling  wheels  of  destiny.  Or  was  it  Destiny?  She 
had  begun  to  think  about  that,  to  wonder  if  a  lot  that 
she  had  taken  for  granted  as  an  ordered  state  of 
things  was  not,  after  all,  wholly  dependent  upon 
Chance.  She  had  danced  and  sung  and  played  light- 


4  BIG   TIMBER 

heartedlj,  accepting  a  certain  standard  of  living,  a 
certain  position  in  a  certain  set,  a  pleasantly  ordered 
home  life,  as  her  birthright,  a  natural  heritage.  She 
had  dwelt  upon  her  ultimate  destiny  in  her  secret 
thoughts  as  foreshadowed  by  that  of  other  girls  she 
knew.  The  Prince  would  come,  to  put  it  in  a  nutshell. 
He  would  woo  gracefully.  They  would  wed.  They 
would  be  delightfully  happy.  Except  for  the  matter 
of  being  married,  things  would  move  along  the  same 
pleasant  channels. 

Just  so.  But  a  broken  steering  knuckle  on  a 
heavy  touring  car  set  things  in  a  different  light  — 
many  things.  She  learned  then  that  death  is  no  re- 
specter of  persons,  that  a  big  income  may  be  lived  to 
its  limit  with  nothing  left  when  the  brain  force  which 
commanded  it  ceases  to  function.  Her  father  pro- 
duced perhaps  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  dollars  a 
year  in  his  brokerage  business,  and  he  had  saved  noth- 
ing. Thus  at  one  stroke  she  was  put  on  an  equal  foot- 
ing with  the  stenographer  in  her  father's  office. 
Scarcely  equal  either,  for  the  stenographer  earned  her 
bread  and  was  technically  equipped  for  the  task, 
whereas  Estella  Benton  had  no  training  whatsoever, 
except  in  social  usage.  She  did  not  yet  fully  realize 
just  what  had  overtaken  her.  Things  had  happened 
so  swiftly,  so  ruthlessly,  that  she  still  verged  upon  the 
incredulous.  Habit  clung  fast.  But  she  had  begun 
to  think,  to  try  and  establish  Some  working  relation 
between  herself  and  things  as  she  found  them.  She 
had  discovered  already  that  certain  theories  of  human 
relations  are  not  soundly  established  in  fact. 


GREEN    FIELDS  5 

She  turned  at  last  in  her  seat.  The  Limited's  whistle 
had  shrilled  for  a  stop.  At  the  next  stop  —  she  won- 
dered what  lay  in  store  for  her  just  beyond  the  next 
stop.  While  she  dwelt  mentally  upon  this,  her  hands 
were  gathering  up  some  few  odds  and  ends  of  her  be- 
longings on  the  berth. 

Across  the  aisle  a  large,  smooth-faced  young  man 
watched  her  with  covert  admiration.  When  she  had 
settled  back  with  bag  and  suitcase  locked  and  strapped 
on  the  opposite  seat  and  was  hatted  and  gloved,  he 
leaned  over  and  addressed  her  genially. 

"  Getting  off  at  Hopyard?  Happen  to  be  going  out 
to  Roaring  Springs  ?  " 

Miss  Benton's  gray  eyes  rested  impersonally  on  the 
top  of  his  head,  traveled  slowly  down  over  the  trim 
front  of  his  blue  serge  to  the  polished  tan  Oxfords  on 
his  feet,  and  there  was  not  in  eyes  or  on  countenance  the 
slightest  sign  that  she  saw  or  heard  him.  The  large 
young  man  flushed  a  vivid  red. 

Miss  Benton  was  partly  amused,  partly  provoked. 
The  large  young  man  had  been  her  vis-a-vis  at  dinner 
the  day  before  and  at  breakfast  that  morning.  He 
had  evinced  a  yearning  for  conversation  each  time,  but 
it  had  been  diplomatically  confined  to  salt  and  other 
condiments,  the  weather  and  the  scenery.  Miss  Ben- 
ton  had  no  objection  to  young  men  in  general,  quite 
the  contrary.  But  she  did  not  consider  it  quite  the 
thing  to  countenance  every  amiable  stranger. 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  porter  came  for  her  things, 
and  the  blast  of  the  Limited's  whistle  warned  her  that 
it  was  time  to  leave  the  train.  Ten  minutes  later  the 


6  BIG   TIMBER 

Limited  was  a  vanishing  object  down  an  aisle  slashed 
through  a  forest  of  great  trees,  and  Miss  Estella  Ben- 
ton  stood  on  the  plank  platform  of  Hopyard  station. 
Northward  stretched  a  flat,  unlovely  vista  of  fire- 
blackened  stumps.  Southward,  along  track  and  siding, 
ranged  a  single  row  of  buildings,  a  grocery  store,  a 
shanty  with  a  huge  sign  proclaiming  that  it  was  a 
bank,  dwelling,  hotel  and  blacksmith  shop  whence  arose 
the  clang  of  hammered  iron.  A  dirt  road  ran  between 
town  and  station,  with  hitching  posts  at  which  farmers' 
nags  stood  dispiritedly  in  harness. 

To  the  Westerner  such  spots  are  common  enough; 
he  sees  them  not  as  fixtures,  but  as  places  in  a  stage 
of  transformation.  By  every  side  track  and  telegraph 
station  on  every  transcontinental  line  they  spring  up, 
centers  of  productive  activity,  growing  into  orderly 
towns  and  finally  attaining  the  dignity  of  cities.  To 
her,  fresh  from  trim  farmsteads  and  rural  communi- 
ties that  began  setting  their  houses  in  order  when 
Washington  wintered  at  Valley  Forge,  Hopyard  stood 
forth  sordid  and  unkempt.  And  as  happens  to  many 
a  one  in  like  case,  a  wave  of  sickening  loneliness  en- 
gulfed her,  and  she  eyed  the  speeding  Limited  as  one 
eyes  a  departing  friend. 

"  How  could  one  live  in  a  place  like  this  ?  "  she  asked 
herself. 

But  she  had  neither  Slave  of  the  Lamp  at  her  beck, 
nor  any  Magic  Carpet  to  transport  her  elsewhere.  At 
any  rate,  she  reflected,  Hopyard  was  not  her  abiding- 
place.  She  hoped  that  her  destination  would  prove 
more  inviting. 


GREEN    FIELDS  7 

Beside  the  platform  were  ranged  two  touring  cars. 
Three  or  four  of  those  who  had  alighted  entered  these. 
Their  baggage  was  piled  over  the  hoods,  buckled  on  the 
running  boards.  The  driver  of  one  car  approached 
her.  "  Hot  Springs  ?  "  he  inquired  tersely. 

She  affirmed  this,  and  he  took  her  baggage,  likewise 

'  OO      O      * 

her  trunk  check  when  she  asked  how  that  article  would 
be  transported  to  the  lake.  She  had  some  idea  of 
route  and  means,  from  her  brother's  written  instruction, 
but  she  thought  he  might  have  been  there  to  meet  her. 
At  least  he  would  be  at  the  Springs. 

So  she  was  whirled  along  a  country  road,  jolted  in 
the  tonneau  between  a  fat  man  from  Calgary  and  a 
rheumatic  dame  on  her  way  to  take  hot  sulphur  baths 
at  St.  Allwoods.  She  passed  seedy  farmhouses,  primi- 
tive in  construction,  and  big  barns  with  moss  plenti- 
fully clinging  on  roof  and  gable.  The  stretch  of 
charred  stumps  was  left  far  behind,  but  in  every  field 
of  grain  and  vegetable  and  root  great  butts  of  fir  and 
cedar  rose  amid  the  crops.  Her  first  definitely  agree- 
able impression  of  this  land,  which  so  far  as  she  knew 
must  be  her  home,  was  of  those  huge  and  numerous 
stumps  contending  with  crops  for  possession  of  the 
fields.  Agreeable,  because  it  came  to  her  forcibly  that 
it  must,  be  a  sturdy  breed  of  men  and  women,  pos- 
sessed of  brawn  and  fortitude  and  high  courage,  who 
made  their  homes  here.  Back  in  her  country,  once 
beyond  suburban  areas,  the  farms  lay  like  the  squares 
of  a  chess  board,  trim  and  orderly,  tamely  subdued  to 
agriculture.  Here,  at  first  hand,  she  saw  how  man 
attacked  the  forest  and  conquered  it.  But  the  con- 


8  BIG   TIMBER 

quest  was  incomplete,  for  everywhere  stood  those  stub- 
born roots,  six  and  eight  and  ten  feet  across,  con- 
tending with  man  for  its  primal  heritage,  the  soil, 
perishing  slowly  as  perish  the  proud  remnants  of  a 
conquered  race. 

Then  the  cleared  land  came  to  a  stop  against  heavy 
timber.  The  car  whipped  a  curve  and  drove  into  what 
the  fat  man  from  Calgary  facetiously  remarked  upon 
as  the  tall  uncut.  Miss  Benton  sighted  up  these  noble 
columns  to  where  a  breeze  droned  in  the  tops,  two  hun- 
dred feet  above.  Through  a  gap  in  the  timber  she  saw 
mountains,  peaks  that  stood  bold  as  the  Rockies,  capped 
with  snow.  For  two  days  she  had  been  groping  for  a 
word  to  define,  to  sum  up  the  feeling  which  had  grown 
upon  her,  had  been  growing  upon  her  steadily,  as  the 
amazing  scroll  of  that  four-day  journey  unrolled.  She 
found  it  now,  a  simple  word,  one  of  the  simplest  in  our 
mother  tongue  —  bigness.  Bigness  in  its  most  ample 
sense, —  that  was  the  dominant  note.  Immensities  of 
distance,  vastness  of  rolling  plain,  sheer  bulk  of  moun- 
tain, rivers  that  one  crossed,  and  after  a  day's  journey 
crossed  again,  still  far  from  source  or  confluence.  And 
now  this  unending  sweep  of  colossal  trees ! 

At  first  she  had  been  overpowered  with  a  sense  of 
insignificance  utterly  foreign  to  her  previous  experi- 
ence. But  now  she  discovered  with  an  agreeable  sen- 
sation of  surprise  she  could  vibrate  to  such  a  keynote. 
And  while  she  communed  with  this  pleasant  discovery 
the  car  sped  down  a  straight  stretch  and  around  a 
corner  and  stopped  short  to  unload  sacks  of  mail  at  a 
weather-beaten  yellow  edifice,  its  windows  displaying 


GREEN    FIELDS  9 

indiscriminately  Indian  baskets,  groceries,  and  hard- 
ware. Northward  opened  a  broad  scope  of  lake  level, 
girt  about  with  tremendous  peaks  whose  lower  slopes 
were  banked  with  thick  forest. 

Somewhere  distant  along  that  lake  shore  was  to  be 
her  home.  As  the  car  rolled  over  the  four  hundred 
yards  between  store  and  white-and-green  St.  Allwoods, 
she  wondered  if  Charlie  would  be  there  to  meet  her. 
She  was  weary  of  seeing  strange  faces,  of  being  directed, 
of  being  hustled  about. 

But  he  was  not  there,  and  she  recalled  that  he  never 
had  been  notable  for  punctuality.  Five  years  is  a  long 
time.  She  expected  to  find  him  changed  —  for  the  bet- 
ter, in  certain  directions.  He  had  promised  to  be 
there ;  but,  in  this  respect,  time  evidently  had  wrought 
no  appreciable  transformation. 

She  registered,  was  assigned  a  room,  and  ate  luncheon 
to  the  melancholy  accompaniment  of  a  three-man  or- 
chestra struggling  vainly  with  Bach  in  an  alcove  off  the 
dining  room.  After  that  she  began  to  make  inquiries. 
Neither  clerk  nor  manager  knew  aught  of  Charlie  Ben- 
ton.  They  were  both  in  their  first  season  there.  They 
advised  her  to  ask  the  storekeeper. 

"  MacDougal  will  know,"  they  were  agreed.  "  He 
knows  everybody  around  here,  and  everything  that  goes 
on." 

The  storekeeper,  a  genial,  round-bodied  Scotchman, 
had  the  information  she  desired. 

"Charlie  Benton?  "  said  he.  "No,  he'll  be  at  his 
camp  up  the  lake.  He  was  in  three  or  four  days  back. 
I  mind  now,  he  said  he'd  be  down  Thursday ;  that's  to- 


io  BIG   TIMBER 

day.  But  he  isn't  here  yet,  or  his  boat'd  be  by  the 
wharf  yonder." 

"Are  there  any  passenger  boats  that  call  there?" 
she  asked. 

MacDougal  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  reg'lar.  There's  a  gas  boat  goes  t'  the  head 
of  the  lake  now  an'  then.  She's  away  now.  Ye  might 
hire  a  launch.  Jack  Fyfe's  camp  tender's  about  to 
get  under  way.  But  ye  wouldna  care  to  go  on  her, 
I'm  thinkin'.  She'll  be  loaded  wi'  lumberjacks  —  every 
man  drunk  as  a  lord,  most  like.  Maybe  Benton'll  be 
in  before  night." 

She  went  back  to  the  hotel.  But  St.  Allwoods,  in 
its  dual  capacity  of  health-and-pleasure  resort,  was  a 
gilded  shell,  making  a  brave  outward  show,  but  capi- 
talizing chiefly  lake,  mountains,  and  hot,  mineral 
springs.  Her  room  was  a  bare,  cheerless  place.  She 
did  not  want  to  sit  and  ponder.  Too  much  real  grief 
hovered  in  the  immediate  background  of  her  life.  It 
is  not  always  sufficient  to  be  young  and  alive.  To  sit 
still  and  think  —  that  way  lay  tears  and  despondency. 
So  she  went  out  and  walked  down  the  road  and  out 
upon  the  wharf  which  jutted  two  hundred  yards  into 
the  lake. 

It  stood  deserted  save  for  a  lone  fisherman  on  the 
outer  end,  and  an  elderly  couple  that  preceded  her. 
Halfway  out  she  passed  a  slip  beside  which  lay  moored 
a  heavily  built,  fifty-foot  boat,  scarred  with  usage,  a 
squat  and  powerful  craft.  Lakeward  stretched  a 
smooth,  unrippled  surface.  Overhead  patches  of  white 
cloud  drifted  lazily.  Where  the  shadows  from  these 


GREEN    FIELDS  il 

lay,  the  lake  spread  gray  and  lifeless.  Where  the 
afternoon  sun  rested,  it  touched  the  water  with  gleams 
of  gold  and  pale,  delicate  green.  A  white-winged  yacht 
lay  offshore,  her  sails  in  slack  folds.  A  lump  of  an 
island  lifted  two  miles  beyond,  all  cliffs  and  little, 
wooded  hills.  And  the  mountains  surrounding  in  a 
giant  ring  seemed  to  shut  the  place  away  from  all  the 
world.  For  sheer  wild,  rugged  beauty,  Roaring  Lake 
surpassed  any  spot  she  had  ever  seen.  Its  quiet 
majesty,  its  air  of  unbroken  peace  soothed  and  com- 
forted her,  sick  with  hurry  and  swift-footed  events. 

She  stood  for  a  time  at  the  outer  wharf  end,  mildly 
interested  when  the  fisherman  drew  up  a  two-pound 
trout,  wondering  a  little  at  her  own  subtle  changes  of 
mood.  Her  surrounding  played  upon  her  like  a  vir- 
tuoso on  his  violin.  And  this  was  something  that  she 
did  not  recall  as  a  trait  in  her  own  character.  She 
had  never  inclined  to  the  volatile  —  perhaps  because 
until  the  motor  accident  snuffed  out  her  father's  life 
she  had  never  dealt  in  anything  but  superficial  emo- 
tions. 

After  a  time  she  retraced  her  steps.  Nearing  the 
halfway  slip,  she  saw  that  a  wagon  from  which  goods 
were  being  unloaded  blocked  the  way.  A  dozen  men 
were  stringing  in  from  the  road,  bearing  bundles  and 
bags  and  rolls  of  blankets.  They  were  big,  burly  men, 
carrying  themselves  with  a  reckless  swing,  with  trousers 
cut  off  midway  between  knee  and  ankle  so  that  they 
reached  just  below  the  upper  of  their  high-topped, 
heavy,  laced  boots.  Two  or  three  were  singing.  All 
appeared  unduly  happy,  talking  loudly,  with  deep 


12  BIG    TIMBER 

laughter.  One  threw  down  his  burden  and  executed 
a  brief  clog.  Splinters  flew  where  the  sharp  calks 
bit  into  the  wharf  planking,  and  his  companions  ap- 
plauded. 

It  dawned  upon  Stella  Benton  that  these  might  be 
Jack  Fyfe's  drunken  loggers,  and  she  withdrew  until 
the  way  should  be  clear,  vitally  interested  because  her 
brother  was  a  logging  man,  and  wondering  if  these  were 
the  human  tools  he  used  in  his  business,  if  these  were 
the  sort  of  men  with  whom  he  associated.  They  were 
a  rough  lot  —  and  some  were  very  drunk.  With  the 
manifestations  of  liquor  she  had  but  the  most  shadowy 
acquaintance.  But  she  would  have  been  little  less  than 
a  fool  not  to  comprehend  this. 

Then  they  began  filing  down  the  gangway  to  the 
boat's  deck.  One  slipped,  and  came  near  falling  into 
the  water,  whereat  his  fellows  howled  gleefully.  Pre- 
cariously they  negotiated  the  slanting  passage.  All 
but  one :  he  sat  him  down  at  the  slip-head  on  his  bundle 
and  began  a  quavering  chant.  The  teamster  imper- 
turbably  finished  his  unloading,  two  men  meanwhile 
piling  the  goods  aboard. 

The  wagon  backed  out,  and  the  way  was  clear,  save 
for  the  logger  sitting  on  his  blankets,  wailing  his 
lugubrious  song.  From  below  his  fellows  urged  him 
to  come  along.  A  bell  clanged  in  the  pilot  house. 
The  exhaust  of  a  gas  engine  began  to  sputter  through 
the  boat's  side.  From  her  after  deck  a  man  hailed  the 
logger  sharply,  and  when  his  call  was  unheeded,  he  ran 
lightly  up  the  slip.  A  short,  squarely-built  man  he 
was,  light  on  his  feet  as  a  dancing  master. 


GREEN    FIELDS  13 

He  spoke  now  with  authority,  impatiently. 

"  Hurry  aboard,  Mike ;  we're  waiting." 

The  logger  rose,  waved  his  hand  airily,  and  turned 
as  if  to  retreat  down  the  wharf.  The  other  caught  him 
by  the  arm  and  spun  him  face  to  the  slip. 

"  Come  on,  Slater,"  he  said  evenly.  "  I  have  no 
time  to  fool  around." 

The  logger  drew  back  his  fist.  He  was  a  fairly  big 
man.  But  if  he  had  in  mind  to  deal  a  blow,  it  failed, 
for  the  other  ducked  and  caught  him  with  both  arms 
around  the  middle.  He  lifted  the  logger  clear  of  the 
wharf,  hoisted  him  to  the  level  of  his  breast,  and  heaved 
him  down  the  slip  as  one  would  throw  a  sack  of  bran. 

The  man's  body  bounced  on  the  incline,  rolled,  slid, 
tumbled,  till  at  length  he  brought  up  against  the  boat's 
guard,  and  all  that  saved  him  a  ducking  was  the  prompt 
extension  of  several  stout  arms,  which  clutched  and 
hauled  him  to  the  flush  after  deck.  He  sat  on  his 
haunches,  blinking.  Then  he  laughed.  So  did  the  man 
at  the  top  of  the  slip  and  the  lumberjacks  clustered 
on  the  boat.  Homeric  laughter,  as  at  some  surpassing 
jest.  But  the  roar  of  him  who  had  taken  that  in- 
glorious descent  rose  loudest  of  all,  an  explosive, 
"Har  — har  — har!" 

He  clambered  unsteadily  to  his'  feet,  his  mouth  ex- 
panded in  an  amiable  grin. 

"  Hey,  Jack,"  he  shouted.  "  Maybe  y'  c'n  throw  m* 
blankets  down  too,  while  y'r  at  it." 

The  man  at  the  slip-head  caught  up  the  roll,  poised 
it  high,  and  cast  it  from  him  with  a  quick  twist  of  his 
body.  The  woolen  missile  flew  like  a  well-put  shot 


14  BIG   TIMBER 

and  caught  its  owner  fair  in  the  breast,  tumbling  him 
backwards  on  the  deck  —  and  the  Homeric  laughter 
rose  in  double  strength.  Then  the  boat  began  to 
swing,  and  the  man  ran  down  and  leaped  the  widening 
space  as  she  drew  away  from  her  mooring. 

Stella  Benton  watched  the  craft  gather  way,  a  trifle 
shocked,  her  breath  coming  a  little  faster.  The  most 
deadly  blows  she  had  ever  seen  struck  were  delivered 
in  a  more  subtle,  less  virile  mode,  a  curl  of  the  lip,  an 
inflection  of  the  voice.  These  were  a  different  order 
of  beings.  This,  she  sensed  was  man  in  a  more  primi- 
tive aspect,  man  with  the  conventional  bark  stripped 
clean  off  him.  And  she  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be 
amused  or  frightened  when  she  reflected  that  among 
such  her  life  would  presently  lie.  Charlie  had  written 
that  she  would  find  things  and  people  a  trifle  rougher 
than  she  was  used  to.  She  could  well  believe  that. 
But  —  they  were  picturesque  ruffians. 

Her  interested  gaze  followed  the  camp  tender  as  it 
swung  around  the  wharf-end,  and  so  her  roaming  eyes 
were  led  to  another  craft  drawing  near.  This  might 
be  her  brother's  vessel.  She  went  back  to  the  outer 
landing  to  see. 

Two  men  manned  this  boat.  As  she  ranged  along- 
side the  piles,  one  stood  forward,  and  the  other  aft 
with  lines  to  make  fast.  She  cast  a  look  at  each. 
They  were  prototypes  of  the  rude  crew  but  now  de- 
parted, brown-faced,  flannel-shirted,  shod  with  calked 
boots,  unshaven  for  days,  typical  men  of  the  woods. 
But  as  she  turned  to  go,  the  man  forward  and  almost 
directly  below  her  looked  her  full  in  the  face. 


GREEN    FIELDS  15 

"Stell!" 

She  leaned  over  the  rail. 

"  Charlie  Benton  —  for  Heaven's  sake." 

They  stared  at  each  other. 

"Well,"  he  laughed  at  last.  "If  it  were  not  for 
your  mouth  and  eyes,  Stell,  I  wouldn't  have  known 
you.  Why,  you're  all  grown  up." 

He  clambered  to  the  wharf  level  and  kissed  her. 
The  rough  stubble  of  his  beard  pricked  her  tender  skin 
and  she  drew  back. 

"  My  word,  Charlie,  you  certainly  ought  to  shave," 
she  observed  with  sisterly  frankness.  "  I  didn't  know 
you  until  you  spoke.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  but 
you  do  need  some  one  to  look  after  you." 

Benton  laughed  tolerantly. 

"  Perhaps.  But,  my  dear  girl,  a  fellow  doesn't  get 
anywhere  on  his  appearance  in  this  country.  When  a 
fellow's  bucking  big  timber,  he  shucks  off  a  lot  of  things 
he  used  to  think  were  quite  essential.  By  Jove,  you're 
a  picture,  Stell.  If  I  hadn't  been  expecting  to  see  you, 
I  wouldn't  have  known  you." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  known  you  either,"  she 
returned  drily. 


CHAPTER  II 

ME.    ABBEY   AEEIVES 

Stella  accompanied  her  brother  to  the  store,  where 
he  gave  an  order  for  sundry  goods.  Then  they  went 
to  the  hotel  to  see  if  her  trunks  had  arrived.  Within 
a  few  yards  of  the  fence  which  enclosed  the  grounds  of 
St.  Allwoods  a  man  hailed  Benton,  and  drew  him  a  few 
steps  aside.  Stella  walked  slowly  on,  and  presently 
her  brother  joined  her. 

The  baggage  wagon  had  brought  the  trunks,  and 
when  she  had  paid  her  bill,  they  were  delivered  at  the 
outer  wharf-end,  where  also  arrived  at  about  the  same 
time  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  supplies  from  the 
store  and  a  Japanese  with  her  two  handbags.  So  far 
as  Miss  Estella  Benton  could  see,  she  was  about  to 
embark  on  the  last  stage  of  her  journey. 

"  How  soon  will  you  start  ?  "  she  inquired,  when  the 
last  of  the  stuff  was  stowed  aboard  the  little  steamer. 

"  Twenty  minutes  or  so,"  Benton  answered.  "  Say," 
he  went  on  casually,  "  have  you  got  any  money,  Stell  ? 
I  owe  a  fellow  thirty  dollars,  and  I  left  the  bank  roll 
and  my  check  book  at  camp." 

Miss  Benton  drew  the  purse  from  her  hand  bag  and 
gave  it  to  him.  He  pocketed  it  and  went  off  down  the 


MR.    ABBEY    ARRIVES  17 

wharf,  with  the  brief  assurance  that  he  would  be  gone 
only  a  minute  or  so. 

The  minute,  however,  lengthened  to  nearly  an  hour, 
and  Sam  Davis  had  his  blow-off  valve  hissing,  and 
Stella  Benton  was  casting  impatient  glances  shoreward 
before  Charlie  strolled  leisurely  back. 

"  You  needn't  fire  up  quite  so  strong,  Sam,"  he  called 
down.  "  We  won't  start  for  a  couple  of  hours  yet." 

"  Sufferin'  Moses ! "  Davis  poked  his  fiery  thatch 
out  from  the  engine  room.  "  I  might  'a'  known  better'n 
to  "sweat  over  firin'  up.  You  generally  manage  to  make 
about  three  false  starts  to  one  get-away." 

Benton  laughed  good-naturedly  and  turned  away. 

"  Do  you  usually  allow  your  men  to  address  you  in 
that  impertinent  way?  "  Miss  Benton  desired  to  know. 

Charlie  looked  blank  for  a  second.  Then  he  smiled, 
and  linking  his  arm  affectionately  in  hers,  drew  her  off 
along  the  wharf,  chuckling  to  himself. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  he,  "  you'd  better  not  let  Sam 
Davis  or  any  of  Sam's  kind  hear  you  pass  remarks  like 
that.  Sam  would  say  exactly  what  he  thought  about 
such  matters  to  his  boss,  or  King  George,  or  to  the 
first  lady  of  the  land,  regardless.  Sabe?  We're  what 
you'll  call  primitive  out  here,  yet.  You  want  to  forget 
that  master  and  man  business,  the  servant  proposition, 
and  proper  respect,  and  all  that  rot.  Outside  the 
English  colonies  in  one  or  two  big  towns,  that  attitude 
doesn't  go  in  B.  C.  People  in  this  neck  of  the  woods 
stand  pretty  much  on  the  same  class  footing,  and  you'll 
get  in  bad  and  get  me  in  bad  if  you  don't  remember 
that.  I've  got  ten  loggers  working  for  me  in  the  woods. 


i8  BIG   TIMBER 

Whether  they're  impertinent  or  profane  cuts  no  figure, 
so  long  as  they  handle  the  job  properly.  They're  men, 
you  understand,  not  servants.  None  of  them  would 
hesitate  to  tell  me  what  he  thinks  about  me  or  anything 
I  do.  If  I  don't  like  it,  I  can  fight  him  or  fire  him. 
They  won't  stand  for  the  sort  of  airs  you're  accustomed 
to.  They  have  the  utmost  respect  for  a  woman,  but  a 
man  is  merely  a  two-legged  male  human  like  themselves, 
whether  he  wears  mackinaws  or  broadcloth,  has  a  barrel 
of  money  or  none  at  all.  This  will  seem  odd  to  you  at 
first,  but  you'll  get  used  to  it.  You'll  find  things  rather 
different  out  here." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  agreed.  "  But  it  sounds  queer. 
For  instance,  if  one  of  papa's  clerks  or  the  chauffeur 
had  spoken  like  that,  he'd  have  been  discharged  on  the 
spot." 

"  The  logger's  a  different  breed,"  Benton  observed 
drily.  "  Or  perhaps  only  the  same  breed  manifesting 
under  different  conditions.  He  isn't  servile.  He 
doesn't  have  to  be." 

"  Why  the  delay,  though?  "  she  reverted  to  the  point. 
"  I  thought  you  were  all  ready  to  go." 

'*  I  am,"  Charlie  enlightened.  "  But  while  I  was  at 
the  store  just  now,  Paul  Abbey  'phoned  from  Vancouver 
to  know  if  there  was  an  up-lake  boat  in.  His  people 
are  big  lumber  guns  here,  and  it  will  accommodate  him 
and  won't  hurt  me  to  wait  a  couple  of  hours  and  drop 
him  off  at  their  camp.  I've  got  more  or  less  business 
dealings  with  them,  and  it  doesn't  hurt  to  be  neigh- 
borly. He'd  have  to  hire  a  gas-boat  otherwise.  Be- 
sides, Paul's  a  pretty  good  head." 


MR.    ABBEY    ARRIVES  19 

This,  of  course,  being  strictly  her  brother's  business, 
Stella  forbore  comment.  She  was  weary  of  travel, 
tired  with  the  tension  of  eternally  being  shunted  across 
distances,  anxious  to  experience  once  more  that  sense 
of  restful  finality  which  comes  with  a  journey's  end. 
But,  in  a  measure  her  movements  were  no  longer  de- 
pendent upon  her  own  volition. 

They  walked  slowly  along  the  broad  roadway  which 
bordered  the  lake  until  they  came  to  a  branchy  maple, 
and  here  they  seated  themselves  on  the  grassy  turf  in 
the  shadow  of  the  tree. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,*'  she  said.  "  How  do  you 
like  it  here,  and  how  are  you  getting  on?  Your  letters 
home  were  always  chiefly  remarkable  for  their  brevity." 

"  There  isn't  a  great  lot  to  tell,"  Benton  responded. 
"  I'm  just  beginning  to  get  on  my  feet.  A  raw,  un- 
tried youngster  has  a  lot  to  learn  and  unlearn  when  he 
hits  this  tall  timber.  I've  been  out  here  five  years,  and 
I'm  just  beginning  to  realize  what  I'm  equal  to  and 
what  I'm  not.  I'm  crawling  over  a  hump  now  that 
would  have  been  a  lot  easier  if  the  governor  hadn't 
come  to  grief  the  way  he  did.  He  was  going  to  put  in 
some  money  this  fall.  But  I  think  I'll  make  it,  anyway, 
though  it  will  keep  me  digging  and  figuring.  I  have  a 
contract  for  delivery  of  a  million  feet  in  September 
and  another  contract  that  I  could  take  if  I  could  see 
my  way  clear  to  finance  the  thing.  I  could  clean  up 
thirty  thousand  dollars  net  in  two  years  if  I  had  more 
cash  to  work  on.  As  it  is,  I  have  to  go  slow,  or  I'd 
go  broke.  I'm  holding  two  limits  by  the  skin  of  my 
teeth.  But  I've  got  one  good  one  practically  for  an 


20  BIG  TIMBER 

annual  pittance.  If  I  make  delivery  on  my  contract 
according  to  schedule  it's  plain  sailing.  That  about 
sizes  up  my  prospects,  Sis." 

"  You  speak  a  language  I  don't  understand,"  she 
smiled.  "  What  does  a  million  feet  mean  ?  And  what's 
a  limit?" 

"  A  limit  is  one  square  mile  —  six  hundred  and  forty 
acres  more  or  less  —  of  merchantable  timber  land,"  he 
explained.  "  We  speak  of  timber  as  scaling  so  many 
board  feet.  A  board  foot  is  one  inch  thick  by  twelve 
inches  square.  Sound  fir  timber  is  worth  around  seven 
dollars  per  thousand  board  feet  in  the  log,  got  out  of 
the  woods,  and  boomed  in  the  water  ready  to  tow  to 
the  mills.  The  first  limit  I  got  —  from  the  govern- 
ment —  will  scale  around  ten  million  feet.  The  other 
two  are  nearly  as  good.  But  I  got  them  from  timber 
speculators,  and  it's  costing  me  pretty  high.  They're 
a  good  spec  if  I  can  hang  on  to  them,  though." 

"  It  sounds  big,"  she  commented. 

"  It  is  big,"  Charlie  declared,  "  if  I  could  go  at  it 
right.  I've  been  trying  ever  since  I  got  wise  to  this 
timber  business  to  make  the  governor  see  what  a  chance 
there  is  in  it.  He  was  just  getting  properly  impressed 
with  the  possibilities  when  the  speed  bug  got  him.  He 
could  have  trimmed  a  little  here  and  there  at  home  and 
put  the  money  to  work.  Ten  thousand  dollars  would 
have  done  the  trick,  given  me  a  working  outfit  along 
with  what  I've  got  that  would  have  put  us  both  on  Easy 
Street.  However,  the  poor  old  chap  didn't  get  around 
to  it.  I  suppose,  like  lots  of  other  business  men,  when 
he  stopped,  everything  ran  down.  According  to  Lan- 


MR.   ABBEY   ARRIVES  21 

der's  figures,  there  won't  be  a  thing  left  when  all  ac- 
counts are  squared." 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  Charlie,"  she  begged.  "  It's 
too  near,  and  I  was  through  it  all." 

"  I  would  have  been  there  too,"  Benton  said.  "  But, 
as  I  told  you,  I  was  out  of  reach  of  your  wire,  and  by 
the  time  I  got  it,  it  was  all  over.  I  couldn't  have  done 
any  good,  anyway.  There's  no  use  mourning.  One 
way  and  another  we've  all  got  to  come  to  it  some  day." 

Stella  looked  out  over  the  placid,  shimmering  surface 
of  Roaring  Lake  for  a  minute.  Her  grief  was  dimming 
with  time  and  distance,  and  she  had  all  her  own  young 
life  before  her.  She  found  herself  drifting  from  pain- 
ful memories  of  her  father's  sudden  death  to  a  con- 
sideration of  things  present  and  personal.  She  found 
herself  wondering  critically  if  this  strange,  rude  land 
would  work  as  many  changes  in  her  as  were  patent  in 
this  bronzed  and  burly  brother. 

He  had  left  home  a  slim,  cocksure  youngster,  who 
had  proved  more  than  a  handful  for  his  family  before 
he  was  half  through  college,  which  educational  fin- 
ishing process  had  come  to  an  abrupt  stop  before  it 
was  complete.  He  had  been  a  problem  that  her  father 
and  mother  had  discussed  in  guarded  tones.  Sending 
him  West  had  been  a  hopeful  experiment,  and  in  the 
West  that  abounding  spirit  which  manifested  itself  in 
one  continual  round  of  minor  escapades  appeared  to 
have  found  a  natural  outlet.  She  recalled  that  lat- 
terly their  father  had  taken  to  speaking  of  Charlie  in 
accents  of  pride.  He  was  developing  the  one  ambition 
that  Benton  senior  could  thoroughly  understand  and 


22  BIG   TIMBER 

properly  appreciate,  the  desire  to  get  on,  to  grasp 
opportunities,  to  achieve  material  success,  to  make 
money. 

Just  as  her  father,  on  the  few  occasions  when  he 
talked  business  before  her,  spoke  in  a  big  way  of  big 
things  as  the  desirable  ultimate,  so  now  Charlie  spoke, 
with  plans  and  outlook  to  match  his  speech.  In  her 
father's  point  of  view,  and  in  Charlie's  now,  a  man's 
personal  life  did  not  seem  to  matter  in  comparison  with 
getting  on  and  making  money.  And  it  was  with  that 
personal  side  of  existence  that  Stella  Benton  was  now 
chiefly  concerned.  She  had  never  been  required  to 
adjust  herself  to  an  existence  that  was  wholly  taken 
up  with  getting  on  to  the  complete  exclusion  of  every- 
thing else.  Her  work  had  been  to  play.  She  could 
scarce  conceive  of  any  one  entirely  excluding  pleasure 
and  diversion  from  his  or  her  life.  She  wondered  if 
Charlie  had  done  so.  And  if  not,  what  ameliorating 
circumstances,  what  social  outlet,  might  be  found  to 
offset,  for  her,  continued  existence  in  this  isolated  re- 
gion of  towering  woods.  So  far  as  her  first  impressions 
went,  Roaring  Lake  appeared  to  be  mostly  frequented 
by  lumberjacks  addicted  to  rude  speech  and  strong 
drink. 

"  Are  there  many  people  living  around  this  lake  ?  " 
she  inquired.  "  It  is  surely  a  beautiful  spot.  If  we 
had  this  at  home,  there  would  be  a  summer  cottage  on 
every  hundred  yards  of  shore." 

"  Be  a  long  time  before  we  get  to  that  stage  here," 
Benton  returned.  "  And  scenery  in  B.  C.  is  a  drug 
on  the  market;  we've  got  Europe  backed  off  the  map 


MR.   ABBEY   ARRIVES  23 

for  tourist  attractions,  if  they  only  knew  it.  No, 
about  the  only  summer  home  in  this  locality  is  the 
Abbey  place  at  Cottonwood  Point.  They  come  up  here 
every  summer  for  two  or  three  months.  Otherwise  I 
don't  know  of  any  lilies  of  the  field,  barring  the  hotel 
people,  and  they,  being  purely  transient,  don't  count. 
There's  the  Abbey-Monohan  outfit  with  two  big  logging 
camps,  my  outfit,  Jack  Fyfe's,  some  hand  loggers  on 
the  east  shore,  and  the  R.  A.  T.  at  the  head  of  the 
lake.  That's  the  population  —  and  Roaring  Lake  is 
forty-two  miles  long  and  eight  wide." 

"  Are  there  any  nice  girls  around  ?  "  she  asked. 

Benton  grinned  widely. 

"  Girls?  "  said  he.  "  Not  so  you  could  notice.  Out- 
side the  Springs  and  the  hatchery  over  the  way,  there 
isn't  a  white  woman  on  the  lake  except  Lefty  Howe's 
wife, —  Lefty's  Jack  Fyfe's  foreman, —  and  she's  fat 
and  past  forty.  I  told  you  it  was  a  God-forsaken  hole 
as  far  as  society  is  concerned,  Stell." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  But  one  can 
scarcely  realize  such  a  —  such  a  social  blankness,  until 
one  actually  experiences  it.  Anyway,  I  don't  know  but 
I'll  appreciate  utter  quiet  for  awhile.  But  what  do 
you  do  with  yourself  when  you're  not  working?  " 

"  There's  seldom  any  such  time,"  he  answered.  "  I 
tell  you,  Stella,  I've  got  a  big  job  on  my  hands.  I've 
got  a  definite  mark  to  shoot  at,  and  I'm  going  to  make 
a  bull's-eye  in  spite  of  hell  and  high  water.  I  have  no 
time  to  play,  and  there's  no  place  to  play  if  I  had.  I 
don't  intend  to  muddle  along  making  a  pittance  like 
a  hand  logger.  I  want  a  stake ;  and  then  it'll  be  time 


24  BIG   TIMBER 

to  make  a  splurge  in  a  country  where  a  man  can  get 
a  run  for  his  money." 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  she  observed,  "  I'm  likely  to 
be  a  handicap  to  you,  am  I  not?  " 

"  Lord,  no,"  he  smiled.  "  I'll  put  you  to  work  too, 
when  you  get  rested  up  from  your  trip.  You  stick 
with  me,  Sis,  and  you'll  wear  diamonds." 

She  laughed  with  him  at  this,  and  leaving  the  shady 
maple  they  walked  up  to  the  hotel,  where  Benton  pro- 
posed that  they  get  a  canoe  and  paddle  to  where  Roar- 
ing River  flowed  out  of  the  lake  half  a  mile  westward, 
to  kill  the  time  that  must  elapse  before  the  three-thirty 
train. 

The  St.  Allwoods'  car  was  rolling  out  to  Hopyard 
when  they  came  back.  By  the  time  Benton  had  turned 
the  canoe  over  to  the  boathouse  man  and  reached  the 
wharf,  the  horn  of  the  returning  machine  sounded  down 
the  road.  They  waited.  The  car  came  to  a  stop  at 
the  abutting  wharf.  The  driver  handed  two  suitcases 
off  the  burdened  hood  of  his  machine.  From  out  the 
tonneau  clambered  a  large,  smooth-faced  young  man. 
He  wore  an  expansive  smile  in  addition  to  a  blue  serge 
suit,  white  Panama,  and  polished  tan  Oxfords,  and  he 
bestowed  a  hearty  greeting  upon  Charlie  Benton.  But 
his  smile  suffered  eclipse,  and  a  faint  flush  rose  in  his 
round  cheeks,  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  Benton's  sister. 


CHAPTER  III 

HALFWAY    POINT 

Miss  Benton's  cool,  impersonal  manner  seemed  rather 
to  heighten  the  young  man's  embarrassment.  Benton, 
apparently  observing  nothing  amiss,  introduced  them 
in  an  offhand  fashion. 

"  Mr.  Abbey  —  my  sister." 

Mr.  Abbey  bowed  and  murmured  something  that 
passed  for  acknowledgment.  The  three  turned  up  the 
wharf  toward  where  Sam  Davis  had  once  more  got  up 
steam.  As  they  walked;  Mr.  Abbey's  habitual  assur- 
ance returned,  and  he  directed  part  of  his  genial  flow 
of  conversation  to  Miss  Benton.  To  Stella's  inner 
amusement,  however,  he  did  not  make  any  reference  to 
their  having  been  fellow  travelers  for  a  day  and  a  half. 

Presently  they  were  embarked  and  under  way. 
Charlie  fixed  a  seat  for  her  on  the  after  deck,  and  went 
forward  to  steer,  whither  he  was  straightway  joined 
by  Paul  Abbey.  Miss  Benton  was  as  well  pleased  to  be 
alone.  She  was  not  sure  she  should  approve  of  young 
men  who  made  such  crude  efforts  to  scrape  acquaintance 
with  women  on  trains.  She  was  accustomed  to  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  formality  in  such  matters.  It  might 
perhaps  be  laid  to  the  "  breezy  Western  manner  "  of 
which  she  had  heard,  except  that  Paul  Abbey  did  not 
impress  her  as  a  Westerner.  He  seemed  more  like  a 


26  BIG    TIMBER 

type  of  young  man  she  had  encountered  frequently  in 
her  own  circle.  At  any  rate,  she  was  relieved  when  he 
did  not  remain  beside  her  to  emit  polite  commonplaces. 
She  was  quite  satisfied  to  sit  by  herself  and  look  over  the 
panorama  of  woods  and  lake  —  and  wonder  more  than 
a  little  what  Destiny  had  in  store  for  her  along  those 
silent  shores. 

The  Springs  fell  far  behind,  became  a  few  white  spots 
against  the  background  of  dusky  green.  Except  for 
the  ripples  spread  by  their  wake,  the  water  laid  oily 
smooth.  Now,  a  little  past  four  in  the  afternoon,  she 
began  to  sense  by  comparison  the  great  bulk  of  the 
western  mountains, —  locally,  the  Chehalis  Range, — 
for  the  sun  was  dipping  behind  the  ragged  peaks  al- 
ready, and  deep  shadows  stole  out  from  the  shore  to 
port.  Beneath  her  feet  the  -screw  throbbed,  pulsing 
like  an  overdriven  heart,  and  Sam  Davis  poked  his 
sweaty  face  now  and  then  through  a  window  to  catch  a 
breath  of  cool  air  denied  him  in  the  small  inferno  where 
he  stoked  the  fire  box. 

The  Chickamin  cleared  Echo  Island,  and  a  greater 
sweep  of  lake  opened  out.  Here  the  afternoon  wind 
sprang  up,  shooting  gustily  through  a  gap  between 
the  Springs  and  Hopyard  and  ruffling  the  lake  out  of 
its  noonday  siesta.  Ripples,  chop,  and  a  growing 
swell  followed  each  other  with  that  marvellous  rapidity 
common  to  large  bodies  of  fresh  water.  It  broke  the 
monotony  of  steady  cleaving  through  dead  calm. 
Stella  was  a  good  sailor,  and  she  rather  enjoyed  it 
when  the  Chickamin  began  to  lift  and  yaw  off  before 
the  following  seas  that  ran  up  under  her  fantail  stern. 

I 


HALFWAY    POINT  27 

After  about  an  hour's  run,  with  the  south  wind  be- 
ginning to  whip  the  crests  of  the  short  seas  into  white 
foam,  the  boat  bore  in  to  a  landing  behind  a  low  point. 
Here  Abbey  disembarked,  after  taking  the  trouble  to 
come  aft  and  shake  hands  with  polite  farewell.  Stand- 
ing on  the  float,  hat  in  hand,  he  bowed  his  sleek  blond 
head  to  Stella. 

"  I  hope  you'll  like  Roaring  Lake,  Miss  Benton,"  he 
said,  as  Benton  jingled  the  go-ahead  bell.  "I  tried 
to  persuade  Charlie  to  stop  over  awhile,  so  you  could 
meet  my  mother  and  sister,  but  he's  in  too  big  a  hurry. 
Hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  again  soon." 

Miss  Benton  parried  courteously,  a  little  at  a  loss 
to  fathom  this  bland  friendliness,  and  presently  the 
widening  space  cut  off  their  talk.  As  the  boat  drew 
offshore,  she  saw  two  women  in  white  come  down  toward 
the  float,  meet  Abbey,  and  turn  back.  And  a  little 
farther  out  through  an  opening  in  the  woods,  she  saw 
a  white  and  green  bungalow,  low  and  rambling,  wide- 
verandahed,  set  on  a  hillock  three  hundred  yards  back 
from  shore.  There  was  an  encircling  area  of  smooth 
lawn,  a  place  restfully  inviting. 

Watching  that,  seeing  a  figure  or  two  moving  about, 
she  was  smitten  with  a  recurrence  of  that  poignant 
loneliness  which  had  assailed  her  fitfully  in  the  last  four 
days.  And  while  the  ChicJcamin  was  still  plowing  the 
inshore  waters  on  an  even  keel,  she  walked  the  guard 
rail  alongside  and  joined  her  brother  in  the  pilot  house. 

"  Isn't  that  a  pretty  place  back  there  in  the  woods  ?  " 
she  remarked. 

"  Abbey's  summer  camp ;  spells  money  to  me,  that's 


28  BIG   TIMBER 

all,"  Charlie  grumbled.  "  It's  a  toy  for  their  women, — 
up-to-date  cottage,  gardeners,  tennis  courts,  afternoon 
tea  on  the  lawn  for  the  guests,  and  all  that.  But  the 
Abbey-Monohan  bunch  has  the  money  to  do  what  they 
want  to  do.  They've  made  it  in  timber,  as  I  expect  to 
make  mine.  You  didn't  particularly  want  to  stay  over 
and  get  acquainted,  did  you?  " 

"I?     Of  course  not,"  she  responded. 

"  Personally,  I  don't  want  to  mix  into  their  social 
game,"  Charlie  drawled.  "  Or  at  least,  I  don't  pro- 
pose to  make  any  tentative  advances.  The  women  put 
on  lots  of  side,  they  say.  If  they  want  to  hunt  us  up 
and  cultivate  you,  all  right.  But  I've  got  too  much 
to  do  to  butt  into  society.  Anyway,  I  didn't  want  to 
run  up  against  any  critical  females  looking  like  I  do 
right  now." 

Stella  smiled. 

"  Under  certain  circumstances,  appearances  do  count 
then,  in  this  country,"  she  remarked.  "  Has  your  Mr. 
Abbey  got  a  young  and  be-yutiful  sister?  " 

"  He  has,  but  that's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it," 
Charlie  retorted.  "  Paul's  all  right  himself.  But 
their  gait  isn't  mine  —  not  yet.  Here,  you  take  the 
wheel  a  minute.  I  want  to  smoke.  I  don't  suppose 
you  ever  helmed  a  forty-footer,  but  you'll  never  learn 
younger." 

She  took  the  wheel  and  Charlie  stood  by,  directing 
her.  In  twenty  minutes  they  were  out  where  the  run 
of  the  sea  from  the  south  had  a  fair  sweep.  The  wind 
was  whistling  now.  All  the  roughened  surface  was 
spotted  with  whitecaps.  The  Chickamin  would  hang  on 


HALFWAY    POINT  29 

the  crest  of  a  wave  and  shoot  forward  like  a  racer,  her 
wheel  humming,  and  again  the  roller  would  run  out 
from  under  her,  and  she  would  labor  heavily  in  the 
trough. 

It  began  to  grow  insufferably  hot  in  the  pilot  house. 
The  wind  drove  with  them,  pressing  the  heat  from  the 
boiler  and  fire  box  into  the  forward  portion  of  the 
boat,  where  Stella  stood  at  the  wheel.  There  were 
puffs  of  smoke  when  Davis  opened  the  fire  box  to  ply 
it  with  fuel.  All  the  sour  smells  that  rose  from  an 
unclean  bilge  eddied  about  them.  The  heat  and  the 
smell  and  the  surging  motion  began  to  nauseate  Stella. 

"  I  must  get  outside  where  I  can  breathe,"  she 
gasped,  at  length.  "  It's  suffocating.  I  don't  see  how 
you  stand  it." 

"  It  does  get  stuffy  in  here  when  we  run  with  the 
wind,"  Benton  admitted.  "  Cuts  off  our  ventilation. 
I'm  used  to  it.  Crawl  out  the  window  and  sit  on  the 
forward  deck.  Don't  try  to  get  aft.  You  might  slip 
off,  the  way  she's  lurching." 

Curled  in  the  hollow  of  a  faked-down  hawser  with  the 
clean  air  fanning  her,  Stella  recovered  herself.  The 
giddiness  left  her.  She  pitied  Sam  Davis  back  in  that 
stinking  hole  beside  the  fire  box.  But  she  supposed  he, 
like  her  brother,  was  "  used  to  it."  Apparently  one 
could  get  used  to  anything,  if  she  could  judge  by  the 
amazing  change  in  Charlie. 

Far  ahead  loomed  a  ridge  running  down  to  the  lake 
shore  and  cutting  off  in  a  bold  promontory.  That 
was  Halfway  Point,  Charlie  had  told  her,  and  under 
its  shadow  lay  his  camp.  Without  any  previous  knowl- 


3o  BIG   TIMBER 

edge  of  camps,  she  was  approaching  this  one  with  less 
eager  anticipation  than  when  she  began  her  long  jour- 
ney. She  began  to  fear  that  it  might  be  totally  unlike 
anything  she  had  been  able  to  imagine,  disagreeably 
so.  Charlie,  she  decided,  had  grown  hard  and 
coarsened  in  the  evolution  of  his  ambition  to  get  on,  to 
make  his  pile.  She  was  but  four  years  younger  than 
he,  and  she  had  always  thought  of  herself  as  being 
older  and  wiser  and  steadier.  She  had  conceived  the 
idea  that  her  presence  would  have  a  good  influence  on 
him,  that  they  would  pull  together  —  now  that  there 
were  but  the  two  of  them.  But  four  hours  in  his  com- 
pany had  dispelled  that  illusion.  She  had  the  wit  to 
perceive  that  Charlie  Benton  had  emerged  from  the 
chrysalis  stage,  that  he  had  the  will  and  the  ability  to 
mold  his  life  after  his  elected  fashion,  and  that  her 
coming  was  a  relatively  unimportant  incident. 

In  due  course  the  Chickamin  bore  in  under  Halfway 
Point,  opened  out  a  sheltered  bight  where  the  watery 
commotion  outside  raised  but  a  faint  ripple,  and  drew 
in  alongside  a  float. 

The  girl  swept  lake  shore,  bay,  and  sloping  forest 
with  a  quickening  eye.  Here  was  no  trim-painted  cot- 
tage and  velvet  lawn.  In  the  waters  beside  and  lining 
the  beach  floated  innumerable  logs,  confined  by  boom- 
sticks,  hundreds  of  trunks  of  fir,  forty  and  sixty  feet 
long,  four  and  six  feet  across  the  butt,  timber  enough, 
when  it  had  passed  through  the  sawmills,  to  build  four 
such  towns  as  Hopyard.  Just  back  from  the  shore, 
amid  stumps  and  littered  branches,  rose  the  roofs  of 
divers  buildings.  One  was  long  and  low.  Hard  by  it 


HALFWAY    POINT  31 

stood  another  of  like  type  but  of  lesser  dimension. 
Two  or  three  mere  shanties  lifted  level  with  great 
stumps, —  crude,  unpainted  buildings.  Smoke  issued 
from  the  pipe  of  the  larger,  and  a  white-aproned  man 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

Somewhere  in  the  screen  of  woods  a  whistle  shrilled. 
Benton  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  We  made  good  time,  in  spite  of  the  little  roll," 
said  he.  "  That's  the  donkey  blowing  quitting  time  — 
six  o'clock.  Well,  come  on  up  to  the  shack,  Sis.  Sam, 
you  get  a  wheelbarrow  and  run  those  trunks  up  after 
supper,  will  you  ?  " 

Away  in  the  banked  timber  beyond  the  maples  and 
alder  which  Stella  now  saw  masked  the  bank  of  a  small 
stream  flowing  by  the  cabins,  a  faint  call  rose,  long- 
drawn  : 

"  Tim-ber-r-r-r ! " 

They  moved  along  a  path  beaten  through  fern  and 
clawing  blackberry  vine  toward  the  camp,  Benton  car- 
rying the  two  grips.  A  loud,  sharp  crack  split  the 
stillness ;  then  a  mild  swishing  sound  arose.  Hard  on 
the  heels  of  that  followed  a  rending,  tearing  crash,  a 
thud  that  sent  tremors  through  the  solid  earth  under 
their  feet.  The  girl  started. 

"  Falling  gang  dropped  a  big  fir,"  Charlie  laughed. 
"  You'll  get  used  to  that.  You'll  hear  it  a  good  many 
times  a  day  here." 

"  Good  Heavens,  it  sounded  like  the  end  of  the 
world,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  you  can't  fell  a  stick  of  timber  two  hundred 
feet  high  and  six  or  eight  feet  through  without  making 


32  BIG   TIMBER 

a  pretty  considerable  noise,"  her  brother  remarked 
complacently.  "  I  like  that  sound  myself.  Every  big 
tree  that  goes  down  means  a  bunch  of  money." 

He  led  the  way  past  the  mess-house,  from  the  door- 
way of  which  the  aproned  cook  eyed  her  with  frank 
curiosity,  hailing  his  employer  with  nonchalant  air,  a 
cigarette  resting  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  Benton 
opened  the  door  of  the  second  building.  Stella  fol- 
lowed him  in. 

It  had  the  saving  grace  of  cleanliness  —  according 
to  logging-camp  standards.  But  the  bareness  of  it 
appalled  her.  There  was  a  rusty  box  heater,  littered 
with  cigar  and  cigarette  stubs,  a  desk  fabricated  of 
undressed  boards,  a  homemade  chair  or  two,  sundry 
boxes  standing  about.  The  sole  concession  to  comfort 
was  a  rug  of  cheap  Axminster  covering  half  the  floor. 
The  walls  were  decorated  chiefly  with  miscellaneous 
clothing  suspended  from  nails,  a  few  maps  and  blue 
prints  tacked  up  askew.  Straight  across  from  the 
entering  door  another  stood  ajar,  and  she  could  see 
further  vistas  of  bare  board  wall,  small,  dusty  win- 
dow-panes, and  a  bed  whereon  gray  blankets  were 
tumbled  as  they  fell  when  a  waking  sleeper  cast  them 
aside. 

Benton  crossed  the  room  and  threw  open  another 
door. 

"  Here's  a  nook  I  fixed  up  for  you,  Stella,"  he  said 
briskly.  "  It  isn't  very  fancy,  but  it's  the  best  I  could 
do  just  now." 

She  followed  him  in  silently.  He  set  her  two  bags 
on  the  floor  and  turned  to  go.  Then  some  impulse 


HALFWAY    POINT  33 

moved  him  to  turn  back,  and  he  put  both  hands  on  her 
shoulders  and  kissed  her  gently. 

"  You're  home,  anyway,"  he  said.  "  That's  some- 
thing, if  it  isn't  what  you're  used  to.  Try  to  overlook 
the  crudities.  We'll  have  supper  as  soon  as  you  feel 
like  it." 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Miss  Estella  Benton  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
fighting  against  a  swift  heart-sinking,  a  terrible  de- 
pression that  strove  to  master  her. 

"  Good  Lord  in  Heaven,"  she  muttered  at  last. 
"  What  a  place  to  be  marooned  in.  It's  —  it's  simply 
impossible." 

Her  gaze  roved  about  the  room.  A  square  box, 
neither  more  nor  less,  fourteen  by  fourteen  feet  of  bare 
board  wall,  unpainted  and  unpapered.  There  was  an 
iron  bed,  a  willow  rocker,  and  a  rude  closet  for  clothes 
in  one  corner.  A  duplicate  of  the  department-store 
bargain  rug  in  the  other  room  lay  on  the  floor.  On 
an  upturned  box  stood  an  enamel  pitcher  and  a  tin 
washbasin.  That  was  all. 

She  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  viewed  it  forlornly.  A 
wave  of  sickening  rebellion  against  everything  swept 
over  her.  To  herself  she  seemed  as  irrevocably  alone 
as  if  she  had  been  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  timber 
that  rose  on  every  hand.  And  sitting  there  she  heard 
at  length  the  voices  of  men.  Looking  out  through  a 
window  curtained  with  cheesecloth  she  saw  her  brother's 
logging  gang  swing  past,  stout  woodsmen  all,  big  men, 
tall  men,  short-bodied  men  with  thick  necks  and  shoul- 
ders, sunburned,  all  grimy  with  the  sweat  of  their 


34  BIG    TIMBER 

labors,  carrying  themselves  with  a  free  and  reckless 
swing,  the  doubles  in  type  of  that  roistering  crew  she 
had  seen  embark  on  Jack  Fyfe's  boat. 

In  so  far  as  she  had  taken  note  of  those  who  labored 
with  their  hands  in  the  region  of  her  birth,  she  had  seen 
few  like  these.  The  chauffeur,  the  footman,  the  street 
cleaner,  the  factory  workers  —  they  were  all  different. 
They  lacked  something, —  perhaps  nothing  in  the  way 
of  physical  excellence ;  but  these  men  betrayed  in  every 
movement  a  subtle  difference  that  she  could  not  define. 
Her  nearest  approximation  and  the  first  attempt  she 
made  at  analysis  was  that  they  looked  like  pirates. 
They  were  bold  men  and  strong;  that  was  written  in 
their  faces  and  the  swing  of  them  as  they  walked.  And 
they  served  the  very  excellent  purpose  of  taking  her 
mind  off  herself  for  the  time  being. 

She  watched  them  cluster  by  a  bench  before  the 
cookhouse,  dabble  their  faces  and  hands  in  washbasins, 
scrub  themselves  promiscuously  on  towels,  sometimes 
one  at  each  end  of  a  single  piece  of  cloth,  hauling  it 
back  and  forth  in  rude  play. 

All  about  that  cookhouse  dooryard  spread  a  con- 
fusion of  empty  tin  cans,  gaudily  labeled,  containers 
of  corn  and  peas  and  tomatoes.  Dishwater  and  refuse, 
chips,  scraps,  all  the  refuse  of  the  camp  was  scattered 
there  in  unlovely  array. 

But  that  made  no  more  than  a  passing  impression 
upon  her.  She  was  thinking,  as  she  removed  her  hat 
and  gloves,  of  what  queer  angles  come  now  and  then 
to  the  human  mind.  She  wondered  why  she  should  be 
sufficiently  interested  in  her  brother's  hired  men  to 


HALFWAY    POINT  35 

drive  off  a  compelling  attack  of  the  blues  in  considera- 
tion of  them  as  men.  Nevertheless,  she  found  herself 
unable  to  view  them  as  she  had  viewed,  say,  the  clerks 
in  her  father's  office. 

She  began  to  brush  her  hair  and  to  wonder  what  sort 
of  food  would  be  served  for  supper. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    FORETASTE    OF    THINGS    TO    COME 

Half  an  hour  later  she  sat  down  with  her  brother  at 
one  end  of  a  table  that  was  but  a  long  bench  covered 
with  oilcloth.  Chairs  there  were  none.  A  narrow 
movable  bench  on  each  side  of  the  fixed  table  furnished 
seating  capacity  for  twenty  men,  provided  none  ob- 
jected to  an  occasional  nudging  from  his  neighbor's 
elbow.  The  dishes,  different  from  any  she  had  ever 
eaten  from,  were  of  enormously  thick  porcelain,  dead 
white,  variously  chipped  and  cracked  with  fine  seams. 
But  the  food,  if  plain,  was  of  excellent  quality,  tastily 
cooked.  She  discovered  herself  with  an  appetite  wholly 
independent  of  silver  and  cut  glass  and  linen.  The  tin 
spoons  and  steel  knives  and  forks  harrowed  her  aes- 
thetic sense  without  impairing  her  ability  to  satisfy 
hunger. 

They  had  the  dining  room  to  themselves.  Through 
a  single  shiplap  partition  rose  a  rumble  of  masculine 
talk,  where  the  logging  crew  loafed  in  their  bunkhouse. 
The  cook  served  them  without  any  ceremony,  putting 
everything  on  the  table  at  once, —  soup,  meat,  vege- 
tables, a  bread  pudding  for  dessert,  coffee  in  a  tall  tin 
pot.  Benton  introduced  him  to  his  sister.  He  with- 


THINGS   TO    COME  37 

drew  hastily  to  the  kitchen,  and  they  saw  no  more  of 
him. 

"  Charlie,"  the  girl  said  plaintively,  when  the  man 
had  closed  the  door  behind  him,  "  I  don't  quite  fathom 
your  social  customs  out  here.  Is  one  supposed  to  know 
everybody  that  one  encounters  ?  " 

"  Just  about,"  he  grinned.  "  Loggers,  Siwashes, 
and  the  natives  in  general.  Can't  very  well  help  it,  Sis. 
There's  so  few  people  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  that 
nobody  can  afford  to  be  exclusive, —  at  least,  nobody 
who  lives  here  any  length  of  time.  You  can't  tell  when 
you  may  have  to  call  on  your  neighbor  or  the  fellow 
working  for  you  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death  almost. 
A  man  couldn't  possibly  maintain  the  same  attitude 
toward  a  bunch  of  loggers  working  under  him  that 
would  be  considered  proper  back  where  we  came  from. 
Take  me,  for  instance,  and  my  case  is  no  different  from 
any  man  operating  on  a  moderate  scale  out  here.  I'd 
get  the  reputation  of  being  swell-headed,  and  they'd  put 
me  in  the  hole  at  every  turn.  They  wouldn't  care  what 
they  did  or  how  it  was  done.  Ten  to  one  I  couldn't 
keep  a  capable  working  crew  three  weeks  on  end.  On 
the  other  hand,  take  a  bunch  of  loggers  on  a  pay  roll 
working  for  a  man  that  meets  them  on  an  equal  footing 
—  why,  they'll  go  to  hell  and  back  again  for  him. 
They're  as  loyal  as  soldiers  to  the  flag.  They're  a 
mighty  self-sufficient,  independent  lot,  these  lumber- 
jacks, and  that  goes  for  most  everybody  knocking 
about  in  this  country, —  loggers,  prospectors,  miners, 
settlers,  and  all.  If  you're  what  they  term  *  all  right,' 
you  can  do  anything,  and  they'll  back  you  up.  If  you 


38  BIG   TIMBER 

go  to  putting  on  airs  and  trying  to  assert  yourself  as 
a  superior  being,  they'll  go  out  of  their  way  to  hand 
you  packages  of  trouble." 

"  I  see,"  she  observed  thoughtfully.  "  One's  com- 
pelled by  circumstances  to  practice  democracy." 

"  Something  like  that,"  he  responded  carelessly  and 
went  on  eating  his  supper. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  could  make  this  place  a  lot 
more  homelike,  Charlie?  "  she  ventured,  when  they  were 
back  in  their  own  quarters.  "  I  suppose  it  suits  a  man 
who  only  uses  it  as  a  place  to  sleep,  but  it's  bare  as  a 
barn." 

"  It  takes  money  to  make  a  place  cosy,"  Benton  re- 
turned. "  And  I  haven't  had  it  to  spend  on  knick- 
knacks." 

"  Fiddlesticks ! "  she  laughed.  "  A  comfortable 
chair  or  two  and  curtains  and  pictures  aren't  knick- 
knacks,  as  you  call  them.  The  cost  wouldn't  amount 
to  anything." 

Benton  stuffed  the  bowl  of  a  pipe  and  lighted  it  be- 
fore he  essayed  reply. 

"  Look  here,  Stella,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  This  joint 
probably  strikes  you  as  about  the  limit,  seeing  that 
you've  been  used  to  pretty  soft  surroundings  and  get- 
ting pretty  nearly  anything  you  wanted  whenever  you 
expressed  a  wish  for  it.  Things  that  you've  grown 
into  the  way  of  considering  necessities  are  luxuries. 
And  they're  out  of  the  question  for  us  at  present.  I 
got  a  pretty  hard  seasoning  the  first  two  years  I  was 
in  this  country,  and  when  I  set  up  this  camp  it  was 
merely  a  place  to  live.  I  never  thought  anything 


THINGS   TO    COME  39 

about  it  as  being  comfortable  or  otherwise  until  you 
elected  to  come.  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  go  in  for 
trimmings.  Rough  as  this  camp  is,  it  will  have  to  go 
as  it  stands  this  summer.  I'm  up  against  it  for  ready 
money.  I've  got  none  due  until  I  make  delivery  of 
those  logs  in  September,  and  I  have  to  have  that  mil- 
lion feet  in  the  water  in  order  to  make  delivery.  Every 
one  of  these  men  but  the  cook  and  the  donkey  engineer 
are  working  for  me  with  their  wages  deferred  until 
then.  There  are  certain  expenses  that  must  be  met 
with  cash  —  and  I've  got  all  my  funds  figured  down  to 
nickels.  If  I  get  by  on  this  contract,  I'll  have  a  few 
hundred  to  squander  on  house  things.  Until  then,  it's 
the  simple  life  for  us.  You  can  camp  for  three  or  four 
months,  can't  you,  without  finding  it  completely  un- 
bearable ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  protested.  "  I  wasn't  com- 
plaining about  the  way  things  are.  I  merely  voiced 
the  idea  that  it  would  be  nice  to  fix  up  a  little  cosier, 
make  these  rooms  look  a  little  homelike.  I  didn't  know 
you  were  practically  compelled  to  live  like  this  as  a 
matter  of  economy." 

"  Well,  in  a  sense,  I  am,"  he  replied.  "  And  then 
again,  making  a  place  away  out  here  homelike  never 
struck  me  as  being  anything  but  an  inconsequential 
detail.  I'm  not  trying  to  make  a  home  here.  I'm  after 
a  bundle  of  money.  A  while  ago,  if  you  had  been  here 
and  suggested  it,  you  could  have  spent  five  or  six  hun- 
dred, and  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it.  But  this  contract 
came  my  way,  and  gave  me  a  chance  to  clean  up  three 
thousand  dollars  clear  profit  in  four  months.  I  grabbed 


40  BIG   TIMBER 

it,  and  I  find  it's  some  undertaking.  I'm  dealing  with 
a  hard  business  outfit,  hard  as  nails.  I  might  get  the 
banks  or  some  capitalist  to  finance  me,  because  my 
timber  holdings  are  worth  money.  But  I'm  shy  of  that. 
I've  noticed  that  when  a  logger  starts  working  on  bor- 
rowed capital,  he  generally  goes  broke.  The  financiers 
generally  devise  some  way  to  hook  him.  I  prefer  to 
sail  as  close  to  the  wind  as  I  can  on  what  little  I've  got. 
I  can  get  this  timber  out  —  but  it  wouldn't  look  nice, 
now,  would  it,  for  me  to  be  buying  furniture  when  I'm 
standing  these  boys  off  for  their  wages  till  September  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  been  a  man,"  Miss  Estella  Benton 
pensively  remarked.  "  Then  I  could  put  on  overalls 
and  make  myself  useful,  instead  of  being  a  drone. 
There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  here  I  can  do.  I 
could  keep  house  —  only  you  haven't  any  house  to  keep, 
therefore  no  need  of  a  housekeeper.  Why,  who's  that?  " 

Her  ear  had  caught  a  low,  throaty  laugh,  a  woman's 
laugh,  outside.  She  looked  inquiringly  at  her  brother. 
His  expression  remained  absent,  as  of  one  concentrated 
upon  his  own  problems.  She  repeated  the  question. 

"  That?  Oh,  Katy  John,  I  suppose,  or  her  mother," 
he  answered.  "  Siwash  bunch  camping  around  the 
point.  The  girl  does  some  washing  for  us  now  and 
then.  I  suppose  she's  after  Matt  for  some  bread  or 
something." 

Stella  looked  out.  At  the  cookhouse  door  stood  a 
short,  plump-bodied  girl,  dark-skinned  and  black-haired. 
Otherwise  she  conformed  to  none  of  Miss  Benton's  pre- 
conceived ideas  of  the  aboriginal  inhabitant.  If  she 
had  been  pinned  down,  she  would  probably  have  ad- 


THINGS   TO    COME  41 

mitted  that  she  expected  to  behold  an  Indian  maiden 
garbed  in  beaded  buckskin  and  brass  ornaments.  In- 
stead, Katy  John  wore  a  white  sailor  blouse,  a  brown 
pleated  skirt,  tan  shoes,  and  a  bow  of  baby  blue  ribbon 
in  her  hair. 

"  Why,  she  talks  good  English,"  Miss  Benton  ex- 
claimed, as  fragments  of  the  girl's  speech  floated  over 
to  her. 

"  Sure.  As  good  as  anybody,"  Charlie  drawled. 
"Why  not?" 

"  Well  —  er  —  I  suppose  my  notion  of  Indians  is 
rather  vague,"  Stella  admitted.  "  Are  they  all  civilized 
and  educated?  " 

"  Most  of  'em,"  Benton  replied.  "  The  younger  gen- 
eration anyhow.  Say,  Stell,  can  you  cook?  " 

"A  little,"  Stella  rejoined  guardedly.  "That  In- 
dian girl's  really  pretty,  isn't  she?  " 

"  They  nearly  all  are  when  they're  young,"  he  ob- 
served. "  But  they  are  old  and  tubby  by  the  time 
they're  thirty." 

Katy  John's  teeth  shone  white  between  her  parted 
lips  at  some  sally  from  the  cook.  She  stood  by  the  door, 
swinging  a  straw  hat  in  one  hand.  Presently  Matt 
handed  her  a  parcel  done  up  in  newspaper,  and  she 
walked  away  with  a  nod  to  some  of  the  loggers  sitting 
with  their  backs  against  the  bunkhouse  wall. 

"  Why  were  you  asking  if  I  could  cook  ?  "  Stella  in- 
quired, when  the  girl  vanished  in  the  brush. 

"  Why,  your  wail  about  being  a  man  and  putting  on 
overalls  and  digging  in  reminded  me  that  if  you  liked 
you  may  have  a  chance  to  get  on  your  apron  and  show 


42  BIG   TIMBER 

us  what  you  can  do,"  he  laughed.  "  Matt's  about  due 
to  go  on  a  tear.  He's  been  on  the  water-wagon  now 
about  his  limit.  The  first  man  that  comes  along  with 
a  bottle  of  whisky,  Matt  will  get  it  and  quit  and  head 
for  town.  I  was  wondering  if  you  and  Katy  John  could 
keep  the  gang  from  starving  to  death  if  that  happened. 
The  last  time  I  had  to  get  in  and  cook  for  two  weeks 
myself.  And  I  can't  run  a  logging  crew  from  the  cook 
shanty  very  well." 

"  I  daresay  I  could  manage,"  Stella  returned  dubi- 
ously. "  This  seems  to  be  a  terrible  place  for  drinking. 
Is  it  the  accepted  thing  to  get  drunk  at  all  times  and 
in  public  ?  " 

"  It's  about  the  only  excitement  there  is,"  Benton 
smiled  tolerantly.  "  I  guess  there  is  no  more  drinking 
out  here  than  any  other  part  of  this  North  American 
continent.  Only  a  man  here  gets  drunk  openly  and 
riotously  without  any  effort  to  hide  it,  and  without  it 
being  considered  anything  but  a  natural  lapse.  That's 
one  thing  you'll  have  to  get  used  to  out  here,  Stell  —  I 
mean,  that  what  vices  men  have  are  all  on  the  surface. 
We  don't  get  drunk  secretly  at  the  club  and  sneak  home 
in  a  taxi.  Oh,  well,  we'll  cross  the  bridge  when  we 
come  to  it.  Matt  may  not  break  out  for  weeks." 

He  yawned  openly. 

"  Sleepy  ?  "  Stella  inquired. 

"  I  get  up  every  morning  between  four  and  five,"  he 
replied.  "  And  I  can  go  to  sleep  any  time  after  sup- 
per." 

"  I  think  I'll  take  a  walk  along  the  beach,"  she  said 
abruptly. 


THINGS    TO    COME  43 

"  All  right.  Don't  hike  into  the  woods  and  get  lost, 
though." 

She  circled  the  segment  of  bay,  climbed  a  low,  rocky 
point,  and  found  herself  a  seat  on  a  fallen  tree.  Out- 
side the  lake  heaved  uneasily,  still  dotted  with  white- 
caps  whipped  up  by  the  southerly  gale.  At  her  feet 
surge  after  surge  hammered  the  gravelly  shore.  Far 
through  the  woods  behind  her  the  wind  whistled  and 
hummed  among  swaying  tops  of  giant  fir  and  cedar. 
There  was  a  heady  freshness  in  that  rollicking  wind,  an 
odor  resinous  and  pungent  mingled  with  that  elusive 
smell  of  green  growing  stuff  along  the  shore.  Begin- 
ning where  she  sat,  tree  trunks  rose  in  immense  brown 
pillars,  running  back  in  great  forest  naves,  shadowy 
always,  floored  with  green  moss  laid  in  a  rich,  soft 
carpet  for  the  wood-sprites'  feet.  Far  beyond  the  long 
gradual  lower  slope  lifted  a  range  of  saw-backed  moun- 
tains, the  sanctuary  of  wild  goat  and  bear,  and  across 
the  rolling  lake  lifted  other  mountains  sheer  from  the 
water's  edge,  peaks  rising  above  timber-line  in  majestic 
contour,  their  pinnacle  crests  grazing  the  clouds  that 
scudded  before  the  south  wind. 

Beauty?  Yes.  A  wild,  imposing  grandeur  that 
stirred  some  responsive  chord  in  her.  If  only  one  could 
live  amid  such  surrounding  with  a  contented  mind,  she 
thought,  the  wilderness  would  have  compensations  of 
its  own.  She  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  isolation  from 
everything  that  had  played  an  important  part  in  her 
life  might  be  the  least  depressing  factor  in  this  new 
existence.  She  could  not  view  the  rough  and  ready 
standards  of  the  woods  with  much  equanimity  —  not  as 


44  BIG   TIMBER 

she  had  that  day  seen  them  set  forth.  These  things 
were  bound  to  be  a  part  of  her  daily  life,  and  all  the 
brief  span  of  her  years  had  gone  to  forming  habits  of 
speech  and  thought  and  manner  diametrically  opposed 
to  what  she  had  so  far  encountered. 

She  nursed  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  pondered  this. 
She  could  not  see  how  it  was  to  be  avoided.  She  was 
there,  and  perforce  she  must  stay  there.  She  had 
no  friends  to  go  elsewhere,  or  training  in  the  harsh  busi- 
ness of  gaining  a  livelihood  if  she  did  go.  For  the  first 
time  she  began  dully  to  resent  the  manner  of  her  up- 
bringing. Once  she  had  desired  to  enter  hospital  train- 
ing, had  been  properly  enthusiastic  for  a  period  of 
months  over  a  career  in  this  field  of  mercy.  Then,  as 
now,  marriage,  while  accepted  as  the  ultimate  state, 
was  only  to  be  considered  through  a  haze  of  idealism 
and  romanticism.  She  cherished  certain  ideals  of  a 
possible  lover  and  husband,  but  always  with  a  false  sense 
of  shame.  The  really  serious  business  of  a  woman's  life 
was  the  one  thing  to  which  she  made  no  attempt  to  apply 
practical  consideration.  But  her  parents  had  had  posi- 
tive ideas  on  that  subject,  even  if  they  were  not  openly 
expressed.  Her  yearnings  after  a  useful  "  career " 
were  skilfully  discouraged, —  by  her  mother  because  that 
worthy  lady  thought  it  was  "  scarcely  the  thing,  Stella 
dear,  and  so  unnecessary  " ;  by  her  father  because,  as  he 
bluntly  put  it,  it  would  only  be  a  waste  of  time  and 
money,  since  the  chances  were  she  would  get  married  be- 
fore she  was  half  through  training,  and  anyway  a  girl's 
place  was  at  home  till  she  did  get  married.  That  was 
his  only  reference  to  the  subject  of  her  ultimate  disposi- 


THINGS   TO    COME  45 

tion  that  she  could  recall,  but  it  was  plain  enough  as 
far  as  it  went. 

It  was  too  late  to  mourn  over  lost  opportunities  now, 
but  she  did  wish  there  was  some  one  thing  she  could  do 
and  do  well,  some  service  of  value  that  would  guarantee 
self-support.  If  she  could  only  pound  a  typewriter  or 
keep  a  set  of  books,  or  even  make  a  passable  attempt  at 
sewing,  she  would  have  felt  vastly  more  at  ease  in  this 
rude  logging  camp,  knowing  that  she  could  leave  it  if 
she  desired. 

So  far  as  she  could  see  things,  she  looked  at  them  with 
measurable  clearness,  without  any  vain  illusions  con- 
cerning her  ability  to  march  triumphant  over  unknown 
fields  of  endeavor.  Along  practical  lines  she  had  every- 
thing to  learn.  Culture  furnishes  an  excellent  pair  of 
wings  wherewith  to  soar  in  skies  of  abstraction,  but  is 
a  poor  vehicle  to  carry  one  over  rough  roads.  She 
might  have  remained  in  Philadelphia,  a  guest  among 
friends.  Pride  forbade  that.  Incidentally,  such  an 
arrangement  would  have  enabled  her  to  stalk  a  husband, 
a  moneyed  husband,  which  did  not  occur  to  her  at  all. 
There  remained  only  to  join  Charlie.  If  his  fortunes 
mended,  well  and  good.  Perhaps  she  could  even  help 
in  minor  ways. 

But  it  was  all  so  radically  different  —  brother  and  all 
—  from  what  she  had  pictured  that  she  was  filled  with 
dismay  and  not  a  little  foreboding  of  the  future.  Suffi- 
cient, however,  unto  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof,  she 
told  herself  at  last,  and  tried  to  make  that  assurance 
work  a  change  of  heart.  She  was  very  lonely  and  de- 
pressed and  full  of  a  futile  wish  that  she  were  a  man. 


46  BIG   TIMBER 

Over  across  the  bay  some  one  was  playing  an  ac- 
cordeon,  and  to  its  strains  a  stout-lunged  lumberjack 
was  roaring  out  a  song,  with  all  his  fellows  joining 
strong  in  the  chorus : 

"  Oh,  the  Saginaw  Kid  was  a  cook  in  a  camp,  way  up  on  the 

Ocon-to-o-o. 
And  the  cook  in  a  camp  in  them  old  days  had  a  damn  hard 

row  to  hoe-i-oh ! 
Had  a  damn  hard  row  to  hoe." 

There  was  a  fine,  rollicking  air  to  it.  The  careless 
note  in  their  voices,  the  jovial  lilt  of  their  song,  made 
her  envious.  They  at  least  had  their  destiny,  limited 
as  it  might  be  and  cast  along  rude  ways,  largely  under 
their  own  control. 

Her  wandering  gaze  at  length  came  to  rest  on  a  tent 
top  showing  in  the  brush  northward  from  the  camp. 
She  saw  two  canoes  drawn  up  on  the  beach  above  the 
lash  of  the  waves,  two  small  figures  playing  on  the  gravel, 
and  sundry  dogs  prowling  alongshore.  Smoke  went 
eddying  away  in  the  wind.  The  Siwash  camp  where 
Katy  John  hailed  from,  Miss  Benton  supposed. 

She  had  an  impulse  to  skirt  the  bay  and  view  the  In- 
dian camp  at  closer  range,  a  notion  born  of  curiosity. 
She  debated  this  casually,  and  just  as  she  was  about  to 
rise,  her  movement  was  arrested  by  a  faint  crackle  in 
the  woods  behind.  She  looked  away  through  the  deep- 
ening shadow  among  the  trees  and  saw  nothing  at  first. 
But  the  sound  was  repeated  at  odd  intervals.  She  sat 
still.  Thoughts  of  forest  animals  slipped  into  her 
mind,  without  making  her  afraid.  At  last  she  caught 
sight  of  a  man  striding  through  the  timber,  soundlessly 


THINGS   TO    COME  47 

on  the  thick  moss,  coming  almost  straight  toward 
her. 

He  was  scarcely  fifty  yards  away.  Across  his  shoul- 
ders he  bore  a  reddish-gray  burden,  and  in  his  right 
hand  was  a  gun.  She  did  not  move.  Bowed  slightly 
under  the  weight,  the  man  passed  within  twenty  feet  of 
her,  so  close  that  she  could  see  the  sweat-beads  glisten 
on  that  side  of  his  face,  and  saw  also  that  the  load  he 
carried  was  the  carcass  of  a  deer. 

Gaining  the  beach  and  laying  the  animal  across  a 
boulder,  he  straightened  himself  up  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  Then  he  wiped  the  sweat  off  his  face.  She 
recognized  him  as  the  man  who  had  thrown  the  logger 
down  the  slip  that  day  at  noon, —  presumably  Jack 
Fyfe.  A  sturdily  built  man  about  thirty,  of  Saxon 
fairness,  with  a  tinge  of  red  in  his  hair  and  a  liberal 
display  of  freckles  across  nose  and  cheek  bones.  He 
was  no  beauty,  she  decided,  albeit  he  displayed  a  frank 
and  pleasing  countenance.  That  he  was  a  remarkably 
strong  and  active  man  she  had  seen  for  herself,  and  if  the 
firm  round  of  his  jaw  counted  for  anything,  an  in- 
dividual of  considerable  determination  besides.  Miss 
Benton  conceived  herself  to  be  possessed  of  considerable 
skill  at  character  analysis. 

He  put  away  his  handkerchief,  took  up  his  rifle, 
settled  his  hat,  and  strode  off  toward  the  camp.  Her 
attention  now  diverted  from  the  Siwashes,  she  watched 
him,  saw  him  go  to  her  brother's  quarters,  stand  in  the 
door  a  minute,  then  go  back  to  the  beach  accompanied 
by  Charlie. 

In  a  minute  or  so  he  came  rowing  across  in  a  skiff, 


48  BIG   TIMBER 

threw  his  deer  aboard,  and  pulled  away  north  along  the 
shore. 

She  watched  him  lift  and  fall  among  the  waves  until 
he  turned  a  point,  rowing  with  strong,  even  strokes. 
Then  she  walked  home.  Benton  was  poring  over  some 
figures,  but  he  pushed  aside  his  pencil  and  paper  when 
she  entered. 

"  You  had  a  visitor,  I  see,"  she  remarked. 

"  Yes,  Jack  Fyfe.  He  picked  up  a  deer  on  the  ridge 
behind  here  and  borrowed  a  boat  to  get  home." 

"  I  saw  him  come  out  of  the  woods,"  she  said.  "  His 
camp  can't  be  far  from  here,  is  it?  He  only  left  the 
Springs  as  you  came  in.  Does  he  hunt  deer  for  sport?  " 

"  Hardly.  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it's  sport  for  Jack, 
in  a  way.  He's  always  piking  around  in  the  woods  with 
a  gun  or  a  fishing  rod,"  Benton  returned.  "  But  we  kill 
'em  to  eat  mostly.  It's  good  meat  and  cheap.  I  get 
one  myself  now  and  then.  However,  you  want  to  keep 
that  under  your  hat  —  about  us  fellows  hunting  —  or 
we'll  have  game  wardens  nosing  around  here." 

"  Are  you  not  allowed  to  hunt  them?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  in  close  season.  Hunting  season's  from  Sep- 
tember to  December." 

"  If  it's  unlawful,  why  break  the  law  ?  "  she  ventured 
hestitatingly.  "  Isn't  that  rather  —  er  — " 

"  Oh,  bosh,"  Charlie  derided.  "  A  man  in  the  woods 
is  entitled  to  venison,  if  he's  hunter  enough  to  get  it. 
The  woods  are  full  of  deer,  and  a  few  more  or  less  don't 
matter.  We  can't  run  forty  miles  to  town  and  back 
and  pay  famine  prices  for  beef  every  two  or  three  days, 
when  we  can  get  it  at  home  in  the  woods." 


THINGS   TO    COME  49 

Stella  digested  this  in  silence,  but  it  occurred  to  her 
that  this  mild  sample  of  lawlessness  was  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  men  and  the  environment.  There  was  no 
policeman  on  the  corner,  no  mechanism  of  law  and  order 
visible  anywhere.  The  characteristic  attitude  of  these 
woodsmen  was  of  intolerance  for  restraint,  of  complete 
self-sufficiency.  It  had  colored  her  brother's  point  of 
view.  She  perceived  that  whereas  all  her  instinct  was 
to  know  the  rules  of  the  game  and  abide  by  them,  he, 
taking  his  cue  from  his  environment,  inclined  to  break 
rules  that  proved  inconvenient,  even  to  formulate  new 
ones  to  apply. 

"  And  suppose,"  said  she,  "  that  a  game  warden 
should  catch  you  or  Mr.  Jack  Fyfe  killing  deer  out  of 
season?  " 

"  We'd  be  hauled  up  and  fined  a  hundred  dollars  or 
so,"  he  told  her.  "  But  they  don't  catch  us." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiling  tolerantly 
upon  her,  proceeded  to  smoke. 

Dusk  was  falling  now,  the  long  twilight  of  the  north- 
ern seasons  gradually  deepening,  as  they  sat  in  silence. 
Along  the  creek  bank  arose  the  evening  chorus  of  the 
frogs.  The  air,  now  hushed  and  still,  was  riven  every 
few  minutes  by  the  whir  of  wings  as  ducks  in  evening 
flight  swept  by  above.  All  the  boisterous  laughter  and 
talk  in  the  bunkhouse  had  died.  The  woods  ranged 
gloomy  and  impenetrable,  save  only  in  the  northwest, 
where  a  patch  of  sky  lighted  by  diffused  pink  and  gray 
revealed  one  mountain  higher  than  its  fellows  standing 
bald  against  the  horizon. 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  time  to  turn  in."     Benton  muffled 


5o  BIG   TIMBER 

a  yawn.  "  Pleasant  dreams,  Sis.  Oh,  here's  your 
purse.  I  used  part  of  the  bank  roll.  You  won't  have 
much  use  for  money  up  here,  anyway." 

He  flipped  the  purse  across  to  her  and  sauntered  into 
his  bedroom.  Stella  sat  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the 
vast  bulk  of  Mount  Douglas  a  few  minutes  longer. 
Then  she  too  went  into  the  box-like  room,  the  bare  dis- 
comfort of  which  chilled  her  merely  to  behold. 

With  a  curious  uncertainty,  a  feeling  of  reluctance 
for  the  proceeding  almost,  she  examined  the  contents  of 
her  purse.  For  a  little  time  she  stood  gazing  into  it, 
a  queer  curl  to  her  full  red  lips.  Then  she  flung  it  con- 
temptuously on  the  bed  and  began  to  take  down  her  hair. 

" '  A  rich,  rough,  tough  country,  where  it  doesn't  do 
to  be  finicky  about  anything,'  "  she  murmured,  quoting 
a  line  from  one  of  Charlie  Benton's  letters.  "  It  would 
appear  to  be  rather  unpleasantly  true.  Particularly 
the  last  clause." 

In  her  purse,  which  had  contained  one  hundred  and 
ten  dollars,  there  now  reposed  in  solitary  state  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    TOLL    OF    BIG    TIMBER 

Day  came  again,  in  the  natural  sequence  of  events. 
Matt,  the  cook,  roused  all  the  camp  at  six  o'clock  with 
a  tremendous  banging  on  a  piece  of  boiler  plate  hung 
by  a  wire.  Long  before  that  Stella  heard  her  brother 
astir.  She  wondered  sleepily  at  his  sprightliness,  for 
as  she  remembered  him  at  home  he  had  been  a  confirmed 
lie-abed.  She  herself  responded  none  too  quickly  to  the 
breakfast  gong,  as  a  result  of  which  slowness  the  crew 
had  filed  away  to  the  day's  work,  her  brother  striding 
in  the  lead,  when  she  entered  the  mess-house. 

She  killed  time  with  partial  success  till  noon.  Sev- 
eral times  she  was  startled  to  momentary  attention  by 
the  prolonged  series  of  sharp  cracks  which  heralded  the 
thunderous  crash  of  a  falling  tree.  There  were  other 
sounds  which  betokened  the  loggers'  activity  in  the 
near-by  forest, —  the  ringing  whine  of  saw  blades,  the 
dull  stroke  of  the  axe,  voices  calling  distantly. 

She  tried  to  interest  herself  in  the  camp  and  the 
beach  and  ended  up  by  sitting  on  a  log  in  a  shady  spot, 
staring  dreamily  over  the  lake.  She  thought  impa- 
tiently of  that  homely  saw  concerning  Satan  and  idle 
hands,  but  she  reflected  also  that  in  this  isolation  even 
mischief  was  comparatively  impossible.  There  was  not 


52  BIG   TIMBER 

a  soul  to  hold  speech  with  except  the  cook,  and  he  was 
too  busy  to  talk,  even  if  he  had  not  been  afflicted  with  a 
painful  3egree  of  diffidence  when  she  addressed  him. 
She  could  make  no  effort  at  settling  down,  at  arranging 
things  in  what  was  to  be  her  home.  There  was  nothing 
to  arrange,  no  odds  and  ends  wherewith  almost  any 
woman  can  conjure  up  a  homelike  effect  in  the  barest 
sort  of  place.  She  beheld  the  noon  return  of  the  crew 
much  as  a  shipwrecked  castaway  on  a  desert  shore  might 
behold  a  rescuing  sail,  and  she  told  Charlie  that  she  in- 
tended to  go  into  the  woods  that  afternoon  and  watch 
them  work. 

"  All  right,"  said  he.  "  Just  so  you  don't  get  in  the 
way  of  a  falling  tree." 

A  narrow  fringe  of  brush  and  scrubby  timber 
separated  the  camp  from  the  actual  work.  From  the 
water's  edge  to  the  donkey  engine  was  barely  four  hun- 
dred yards.  From  donkey  to  a  ten-foot  jump-off  on 
the  lake  shore  in  a  straight  line  on  a  five  per  cent, 
gradient  ran  a  curious  roadway,  made  by  placing  two 
logs  in  the  hollow  scooped  by  tearing  great  timbers  over 
the  soft  earth,  and  a  bigger  log  on  each  side.  Butt  to 
butt  and  side  to  side,  the  outer  sticks  half  their  thick- 
ness above  the  inner,  they  formed  a  continuous  trough 
the  bottom  and  sides  worn  smooth  with  friction  of  slid- 
ing timbers.  Stella  had  crossed  it  the  previous  evening 
and  wondered  what  it  was.  Now,  watching  them  at 
work,  she  saw.  Also  she  saw  why  the  great  stumps  that 
rose  in  every  clearing  in  this  land  of  massive  trees 
were  sawed  six  and  eight  feet  above  the  ground.  Al- 
ways at  the  base  the  firs  swelled  sharply.  Wherefore 


THE   TOLL    OF    BIG   TIMBER  53 

the  falling  gangs  lifted  themselves  above  the  enlarge- 
ment to  make  their  cut. 

Two  sawyers  attacked  a  tree.  First,  with  their 
double-bitted  axes,  each  drove  a  deep  notch  into  the 
sapwood  just  wide  enough  to  take  the  end  of  a  two-by- 
six  plank  four  or  five  feet  long  with  a  single  grab-nail 
in  the  end, —  the  springboard  of  the  Pacific  coast  log- 
ger, whose  daily  business  lies  among  the  biggest  timber 
on  God's  footstool.  Each  then  clambered  up  on  his 
precarious  perch,  took  hold  of  his  end  of  the  long, 
limber  saw,  and  cut  in  to  a  depth  of  a  foot  or  more,  ac- 
cording to  the  size  of  the  tree.  Then  jointly  they 
chopped  down  to  this  sawed  line,  and  there  was  the 
undercut  complete,  a  deep  notch  on  the  side  to  which 
the  tree  would  fall.  That  done,  they  swung  the  ends  of 
their  springboards,  or  if  it  were  a  thick  trunk,  made  new 
holding  notches  on  the  other  side,  and  the  long  saw 
would  eat  steadily  through  the  heart  of  the  tree  toward 
that  yellow,  gashed  undercut,  stroke  upon  stroke,  ring- 
ing with  a  thin,  metallic  twang.  Presently  there  would 
arise  an  ominous  cracking.  High  in  the  air  the  tall 
crest  would  dip  slowly,  as  if  it  bowed  with  manifest 
reluctance  to  the  inevitable.  The  sawyers  would  drop 
lightly  from  their  springboards,  crying: 

"  Tim-ber-r-r-r ! " 

The  earthward  swoop  of  the  upper  boughs  would 
hasten  till  the  air  was  full  of  a  whistling,  whishing 
sound.  Then  came  the  rending  crash  as  the  great  tree 
smashed  prone,  crushing  what  small  timber  stood  in 
its  path,  followed  by  the  earth-quivering  shock  of  its 
impact  with  the  soil.  The  tree  once  down,  the  fallers 


54  BIG   TIMBER 

went  on  to  another.  Immediately  the  swampers  fell 
upon  the  prone  trunk  with  axes,  denuding  it  of  limbs; 
the  buckers  followed  them  to  saw  it  into  lengths  decreed 
by  the  boss  logger.  When  the  j  ob  was  done,  the  brown 
fir  was  no  longer  a  stately  tree  but  saw-logs,  each  with 
the  square  butt  that  lay  donkeyward,  trimmed  a  trifle 
rounding  with  the  axe. 

Benton  worked  one  falling  gang.  The  falling  gang 
raced  to  keep  ahead  of  the  buckers  and  swampers,  and 
they  in  turn  raced  to  keep  ahead  of  the  hook  tender, 
rigging  slinger,  and  donkey,  which  last  trio  moved  the 
logs  from  woods  to  water,  once  they  were  down  and 
trimmed.  Terrible,  devastating  forces  of  destruction 
they  seemed  to  Stella  Benton,  wholly  unused  as  she  was 
to  any  woodland  save  the  well-kept  parks  and  little  areas 
of  groomed  forest  in  her  native  State.  All  about  in  the 
ravaged  woods  lay  the  big  logs,  scores  of  them.  They 
had  only  begun  to  pull  with  the  donkey  a  week  earlier, 
Benton  explained  to  her.  With  his  size  gang  he  could 
not  keep  a  donkey  engine  working  steadily.  So  they 
had  felled  and  trimmed  to  a  good  start,  and  now  the 
falling  crew  and  the  swampers  and  buckers  were  in  a 
dingdong  contest  to  see  how  long  they  could  keep  ahead 
of  the  puffing  Seattle  yarder. 

Stella  sat  on  a  stump,  watching.  Over  an  area  of 
many  acres  the  ground  was  a  litter  of  broken  limbs, 
ragged  tops,  crushed  and  bent  and  broken  younger 
growth,  twisted  awry  by  the  big  trees  in  their  fall. 
Huge  stumps  upthrust  like  beacons  in  a  ruffled  harbor, 
grim,  massive  butts.  From  all  the  ravaged  wood  rose 
a  pungent  smell  of  pitch  and  sap,  a  resinous,  pleasant 


THE   TOLL   OF   BIG   TIMBER          55 

smell.  Radiating  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel  from  the 
head  of  the  chute  ran  deep,  raw  gashes  in  the  earth, 
where  the  donkey  had  hauled  up  the  Brobdingnagian 
logs  on  the  end  of  an  inch  cable. 

"This  is  no  small  boy's  play,  is  it,  Stell?  "  Charlie 
said  to  her  once  in  passing. 

And  she  agreed  that  it  was  not.  Agreed  more  em- 
phatically and  with  half-awed  wonder  when  she  saw  the 
donkey  puff  and  quiver  on  its  anchor  cable,  as  the  haul- 
ing line  spooled  up  on  the  drum.  On  the  outer  end  of 
that  line  snaked  a  sixty-foot  stick,  five  feet  across  the 
butt,  but  it  came  down  to  the  chute  head,  brushing  earth 
and  brush  and  small  trees  aside  as  if  they  were  naught. 
Once  the  big  log  caromed  against  a  stump.  The  rear- 
ward end  flipped  ten  feet  in  the  air  and  thirty  feet  side- 
wise.  But  it  came  clear  and  slid  with  incredible  swift- 
ness to  the  head  of  the  chute,  flinging  aside  showers  of 
dirt  and  small  stones,  and  leaving  one  more  deep  fur- 
row in  the  forest  floor.  Benton  trotted  behind  it. 
Once  it  came  to  rest  well  in  the  chute,  he  unhooked  the 
line,  freed  the  choker  (the  short  noosed  loop  of  cable 
that  slips  over  the  log's  end),  and  the  haul-back  cable 
hurried  the  main  line  back  to  another  log.  Benton  fol- 
lowed, and  again  the  donkey  shuddered  on  its  founda- 
tion skids  till  another  log  laid  in  the  chute,  with  its 
end  butted  against  that  which  lay  before.  One  log 
after  another  was  hauled  down  till  half  a  dozen  rested 
there,  elongated  peas  in  a  wooden  pod. 

Then  a  last  big  stick  came  with  a  rush,  bunted  these 
others  powerfully  so  that  they  began  to  slide  with  the 
momentum  thus  imparted,  slowly  at  first  then,  gathering 


56  BIG    TIMBER 

way  and  speed,  they  shot  down  to  the  lake  and  plunged 
to  the  water  over  the  ten-foot  jump-off  like  a  school  of 
breaching  whales. 

All  this  took  time,  vastly  more  time  than  it  takes  in 
the  telling.  The  logs  were  ponderous  masses.  They 
had  to  be  maneuvered  sometimes  between  stumps  and 
standing  timber,  jerked  this  way  and  that  to  bring  them 
into  the  clear.  By  four  o'clock  Benton  and  his  rigging- 
slinger  had  just  finished  bunting  their  second  batch  of 
logs  down  the  chute.  Stella  watched  these  Titanic 
labors  with  a  growing  interest  and  a  dawning  vision  of 
why  these  men  walked  the  earth  with  that  reckless  swing 
of  their  shoulders.  For  they  were  palpably  masters 
in  their  environment.  They  strove  with  woodsy  giants 
and  laid  them  low.  Amid  constant  dangers  they  sweated 
at  a  task  that  shamed  the  seven  labors  of  Hercules. 
Gladiators  they  were  in  a  contest  from  which  they  did 
not  always  emerge  victorious. 

When  Benton  and  his  helper  followed  the  haul-back 
line  away  to  the  domain  of  the  falling  gang  the  last  time, 
Stella  had  so  far  unbent  as  to  strike  up  conversation 
with  the  donkey  engineer.  That  greasy  individual  fin- 
ished stoking  his  fire  box  and  replied  to  her  first  com- 
ment. 

"  Work?  You  bet,"  said  he.  "  It's  real  graft,  this 
is.  I  got  the  easy  end  of  it,  and  mine's  no  snap.  I  miss 
a  signal,  big  stick  butts  against  something  solid;  biff! 
goes  the  line  and  maybe  cuts  a  man  plumb  in  two.  You 
got  to  be  wide  awake  when  you  run  a  loggin'  donkey. 
These  woods  is  no  place  for  a  man,  anyway,  if  he  ain't 
spry  both  in  his  head  and  feet." 


THE   TOLL   OF    BIG   TIMBER  57 

"Do  many  men  get  hurt  logging?"  Stella  asked. 
"  It  looks  awfully  dangerous,  with  these  big  trees  falling 
and  smashing  everything.  Look  at  that.  Goodness !  " 

From  the  donkey  they  could  see  a  shower  of  ragged 
splinters  and  broken  limbs  fly  when  a  two-hundred-foot 
fir  smashed  a  dead  cedar  that  stood  in  the  way  of  its 
downward  swoop.  They  could  hear  the  pieces  strike 
against  brush  and  trees  like  the  patter  of  shot  on  a  tin 
wall. 

The  donkey  engineer  gazed  calmly  enough. 

"  Them  flyin'  chunks  raise  the  dickens  sometimes," 
he  observed.  "  Oh,  yes,  now  an'  then  a  man  gets  laid 
out.  There's  some  things  you  got  to  take  a  chance  on. 
Maybe  you  get  cut  with  an  axe,  or  a  limb  drops  on  you, 
or  you  get  in  the  way  of  a  breakin'  line, —  though  a 
man  ain't  got  any  business  in  the  bight  of  a  line.  A 
man  don't  stand  much  show  when  the  end  of  a  inch  'n' 
a  quarter  cable  snaps  at  him  like  a  whiplash.  I  seen  a 
feller  on  Howe  Sound  cut  square  in  two  with  a  cable- 
end  once.  A  broken  block's  the  worst,  though.  That 
generally  gets  the  riggin'  slinger,  but  a  piece  of  it's 
liable  to  hit  anybody.  You  see  them  big  iron  pulley 
blocks  the  haul-back  cable  works  in?  Well,  sometimes 
they  have  to  anchor  a  snatch  block  to  a  stump  an*  run 
the  main  line  through  it  at  an  angle  to  get  a  log  out 
the  way  you  want.  Suppose  the  block  breaks  when  I'm 
givin'  it  to  her?  Chunks  uh  that  broken  cast  iron'll 
fly  like  bullets.  Yes,  sir,  broken  blocks  is  bad  business. 
Maybe  you  noticed  the  boys  used  the  snatch  block  two 
or  three  times  this  afternoon?  We've  been  lucky  in 
this  camp  all  spring.  Nobody  so  much  as  nicked  him- 


58  BIG   TIMBER 

self  with  an  axe.  Breaks  in  the  gear  don't  come  very 
often,  anyway,  with  an  outfit  in  first-class  shape.  We 
got  good  gear  an'  a  good  crew  —  about  as  sJcookum  a 
bunch  as  I  ever  saw  in  the  woods." 

Two  hundred  yards  distant  Charlie  Benton  rose  on 
a  stump  and  semaphored  with  his  arms.  The  engineer 
whistled  answer  and  stood  to  his  levers ;  the  main  line 
began  to  spool  slowly  in  on  the  drum.  Another  signal, 
and  he  shut  off.  Another  signal,  after  a  brief  wait,  and 
the  drum  rolled  faster,  the  line  tautened  like  a  fiddle- 
string,  and  the  ponderous  machine  vibrated  with  the 
strain  of  its  effort. 

Suddenly  the  line  came  slack.  Stella,  watching  for 
the  log  to  appear,  saw  her  brother  leap  backward  off  the 
Tjtump,  saw  the  cable  whip  sidewise,  mowing  down  a  clump 
of  saplings  that  stood  in  the  bight  of  the  line,  before  the 
engineer  could  cut  off  the  power.  In  that  return  of 
comparative  silence  there  rose  above  the  sibilant  hiss 
of  the  blow-off  valve  a  sudden  commotion  of  voices. 

"  Damn  I  "  the  donkey  engineer  peered  over  the  brush. 
"  That  don't  sound  good.  I  guess  somebody  got  it  in 
the  neck." 

Almost  immediately  Sam  Davis  and  two  other  men 
came  running. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  the  engineer  called  as  they  passed  on 
a  dog  trot. 

"  Block  broke,"  Davis  answered  over  his  shoulder. 
"  Piece  of  it  near  took  a  leg  off  Jim  Renfrew." 

Stella  stood  a  moment,  hesitating. 

"  I  may  be  able  to  do  something.  I'll  go  and  see," 
she  said. 


THE   TOLL    OF    BIG   TIMBER  59 

"  Better  not,"  the  engineer  warned.  "  Liable  to  run 
into  something  that'll  about  turn  your  stomach.  What 
was  I  tellin'  about  a  broken  block?  Them  ragged  pieces 
of  flyin'  iron  sure  mess  a  man  up.  They'll  bring  a  bed 
spring,  an'  pack  him  down  to  the  boat,  an'  get  him  to  a 
doctor  quick  as  they  can.  That's  all.  You  couldn't  do 
nothin'." 

Nevertheless  she  went.  Renfrew  was  the  rigging 
slinger  working  with  Charlie,  a  big,  blond  man  who 
blushed  like  a  schoolboy  when  Benton  introduced  him  to 
her.  Twenty  minutes  before  he  had  gone  trotting  after 
the  haul-back,  sound  and  hearty,  laughing  at  some  sally 
of  her  brother's.  It  seemed  a  trifle  incredible  that  he 
should  lie  mangled  and  bleeding  among  the  green  forest 
growth,  while  his  fellows  hurried  for  a  stretcher. 

Two  hundred  yards  at  right  angles  from  where  Charlie 
had  stood  giving  signals  she  found  a  little  group  under 
a  branchy  cedar.  Renfrew  lay  on  his  back,  mercifully 
unconscious.  Benton  squatted  beside  him,  twisting  a 
silk  handkerchief  with  a  stick  tightly  above  the  wound. 
His  hands  and  Renfrew's  clothing  and  the  mossy  ground 
was  smeared  with  blood.  Stella  looked  over  his  shoulder. 
The  overalls  were  cut  away.  In  the  thick  of  the  man's 
thigh  stood  a  ragged  gash  she  could  have  laid  both 
hands  in.  She  drew  back. 

Benton  looked  up. 

"  Better  keep  away,"  he  advised  shortly.  "  We've 
done  all  that  can  be  done." 

She  retreated  a  little  and  sat  down  on  a  root,  half- 
sickened.  The  other  two  men  stood  up.  Benton  sat 
back,  his  first-aid  work  done,  and  rolled  a  cigarette  with 


60  BIG   TIMBER 

fingers  that  shook  a  little.  Off  to  one  side  she  saw  the 
fallers  climb  up  on  their  springboards.  Presently 
arose  the  ringing  whine  of  the  thin  steel  blade,  the  chuck 
of  axes  where  the  swampers  attacked  a  fallen  tree.  No 
matter,  she  thought,  that  injury  came  to  one,  that  death 
might  hover  near,  the  work  went  on  apace,  like  action 
on  a  battlefield. 

A  few  minutes  thereafter  the  two  men  who  had  gone 
with  Sam  Davis  returned  with  the  spring  from  Benton's 
bed  and  a  light  mattress.  They  laid  the  injured  logger 
on  this  and  covered  him  with  a  blanket.  Then  four  of 
them  picked  it  up.  As  they  started,  Stella  heard  one 
say  to  her  brother: 

"Matt's  jagged." 

"What?"  Benton  exploded.  "  Where'd  it  come 
from?" 

"  One  uh  them  Hungry  Bay  shingle-bolt  cutters's  in 
camp,"  the  logger  answered.  "  Maybe  he  brought  a 
bottle.  I  didn't  stop  to  see.  But  Matt's  sure  got  a 
tank  full." 

Benton  ripped  out  an  angry  oath,  passed  his  men, 
and  strode  away  down  the  path.  Stella  fell  in  behind 
him,  wakened  to  a  sudden  uneasiness  at  the  wrathful  set 
of  his  features.  She  barely  kept  in  sight,  so  rapidly 
did  he  move. 

Sam  Davis  had  smoke  pouring  from  the  Chick -amiri 's 
stack,  but  the  kitchen  pipe  lifted  no  blue  column,  though 
it  was  close  to  five  o'clock.  Benton  made  straight  for 
the  cookhouse.  Stella  followed,  a  trifle  uncertainly. 
A  glimpse  past  Charlie  as  he  came  out  showed  her  Matt 
staggering  aimlessly  about  the  kitchen,  red-eyed,  scowl- 


THE   TOLL    OF    BIG   TIMBER  61 

ing,  muttering  to  himself.  Benton  hurried  to  the  bunk- 
house  door,  much  as  a  hound  might  follow  a  scent, 
peered  in,  and  went  on  to  the  corner. 

On  the  side  facing  the  lake  he  found  the  source  of 
the  cook's  intoxication.  A  tall  and  swarthy  lumber- 
jack squatted  on  his  haunches,  gabbling  in  the  Chinook 
jargon  to  a  Jclootchman  and  a  wizen-featured  old  Siwash. 
The  Indian  woman  was  drunk  beyond  any  mistaking, 
affably  drunk.  She  looked  up  at  Benton  out  of  vacu- 
ous eyes,  grinned,  and  extended  to  him  a  square- 
faced  bottle  of  Old  Tim  gin.  The  logger  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"  H'lo,  Benton,"  he  greeted  thickly.  "  How's  every- 
thin'?" 

Benton's  answer  was  a  quick  lurch  of  his  body  and  a 
smashing  jab  of  his  clenched  fist.  The  blow  stretched 
the  logger  on  his  back,  with  blood  streaming  from  both 
nostrils.  But  he  was  a  hardy  customer,  for  he  bounced 
up  like  a  rubber  ball,  only  to  be  floored  even  more 
viciously  before  he  was  well  set  on  his  feet.  This  time 
Benton  snarled  a  curse  and  kicked  him  as  he  lay. 

"  Charlie,  Charlie !  "  Stella  screamed. 

If  he  heard  her,  he  gave  no  heed. 

"  Hit  the  trail,  you,"  he  shouted  at  the  logger.  "  Hit 
it  quick  before  I  tramp  your  damned  face  into  the 
ground.  I  told  you  once  not  to  come  around  here  feed- 
ing booze  to  my  cook.  I  do  all  the  whisky-drinking 
that's  done  in  this  camp,  and  don't  you  forget  it. 
Damn  your  eyes,  I've  got  troubles  enough  without 
whisky." 

The  man  gathered  himself  up,  badly  shaken,  and  hold- 


62  BIG   TIMBER 

ing  his  hand  to  his  bleeding  nose,  made  off  to  his  row- 
boat  at  the  float. 

"  GVan  home,"  Benton  curtly  ordered  the  Siwashes. 
"  Get  drunk  at  your  own  camp,  not  in  mine.  Sabe? 
Beat  it." 

They  scuttled  off,  the  weened  little  old  man  steadying 
his  fat  Mootch  along  her  uncertain  way.  Down  on  the 
lake  the  chastised  logger  stood  out  in  his  boat,  resting 
once  on  his  oars  to  shake  a  fist  at  Benton.  Then 
Charlie  faced  about  on  his  shocked  and  outraged 
sister. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  she  burst  out.  "  Is  it  necessary 
to  be  so  downright  brutal  in  actions  as  well  as  speech?  " 

"  I'm  running  a  logging  camp,  not  a  kindergarten," 
he  snapped  angrily.  "  I  know  what  I'm  doing.  If  you 
don't  like  it,  go  in  the  house  where  your  hyper-sensitive 
tastes  won't  be  offended." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  responded  cuttingly  and  swung 
about,  angry  and  hurt  —  only  to  have  a  fresh  scare 
from  the  drunken  cook,  who  came  reeling  forward. 

"  I'm  gonna  quit,"  he  loudly  declared.  "  I  ain't  goin' 
to  stick  'round  here  no  more.  The  job's  no  good.  I 
want  m'  time.  Yuh  hear  me,  Benton.  I'm  through. 
Com-pletely,  ab-sho-lutely  through.  You  bet  I  am. 
Gimme  m'  time.  I'm  a  gone  goose." 

"  Quit,  then,  hang  you,"  Benton  growled.  "  You'll 
get  your  check  in  a  minute.  You're  a  fine  excuse  for 
a  cook,  all  right  —  get  drunk  right  on  the  j  ob.  You 
don't  need  to  show  up  here  again,  when  you've  had  your 
jag  out." 

"'S  all  right,"  Matt  declared  largely.     " 'S  other 


THE   TOLL    OF   BIG   TIMBER          63 

jobs.  You  ain't  the  whole  Pacific  coast.  Oh,  way 
down  'pon  the  Swa-a-nee  ribber — " 

He  broke  into  dolorous  song  and  turned  back  into 
the  cookhouse.  Benton's  hard-set  face  relaxed.  He 
laughed  shortly. 

"  Takes  all  kinds  to  make  a  world,"  he  commented. 
"  Don't  look  so  horrified,  Sis.  This  isn't  the  regular 
order  of  events.  It's  just  an  accumulation  —  and  it 
sort  of  got  me  going.  Here's  the  boys." 

The  four  stretcher  men  set  down  their  burden  in 
the  shade  of  the  bunkhouse.  Renfrew  was  conscious 
now. 

"  Tough  luck,  Jim,"  Benton  sympathized.  "  Does  it 
pain  much  ?  " 

Renfrew  shook  his  head.  White  and  weakened  from 
shock  and  loss  of  blood,  nevertheless  he  bravely  dis- 
claimed pain. 

"  We'll  get  you  fixed  up  at  the  Springs,"  Benton 
went  on.  "  It's  a  nasty  slash  in  the  meat,  but  I  don't 
think  the  bone  was  touched.  You'll  be  on  deck  before 
long.  I'll  see  you  through,  anyway." 

They  gave  him  a  drink  of  water  and  filled  his  pipe, 
joking  him  about  easy  days  in  the  hospital  while  they 
sweated  in  the  woods.  The  drunken  cook  came  out, 
carrying  his  rolled  blankets,  began  maudlin  sympathy, 
and  was  promptly  squelched,  whereupon  he  retreated  to 
the  float,  emitting  conversation  to  the  world  at  large. 
Then  they  carried  Renfrew  down  to  the  float,  and  Davis 
began  to  haul  up  the  anchor  to  lay  the  Chickamin  along- 
side. 

While  the  chain  was  still  chattering  in  the  hawse  pipe, 


64  BIG   TIMBER 

the  squat  black  hull  of  Jack  Fyfe's  tender  rounded  the 
nearest  point. 

"  Whistle  him  up,  Sam,"  Benton  ordered.  "  Jack 
can  beat  our  time,  and  this  bleeding  must  be  stopped 
quick." 

The  tender  veered  in  from  her  course  at  the  signal. 
Fyfe  himself  was  at  the  wheel.  Five  minutes  effected 
a  complete  arrangement,  and  the  Panther  drew  off  with 
the  drunken  cook  singing  atop  of  the  pilot  house,  and 
Renfrew  comfortable  in  her  cabin,  and  Jack  Fyfe's 
promise  to  see  him  properly  installed  and  attended  in 
the  local  hospital  at  Roaring  Springs. 

Benton  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  turned  to  his 
sister. 

"  Still  mad,  Stell  ?  "  he  asked  placatingly  and  put  his 
arm  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  responded  instantly  to  this 
kindlier  phase.  "  Ugh !  Your  hands  are  all  bloody, 
Charlie." 

"  That's  so,  but  it'll  wash  off,"  he  replied.  "  Well, 
we're  shy  a  good  woodsman  and  a  cook,  and  I'll  miss 
'em  both.  But  it  might  be  worse.  Here's  where  you 
go  to  bat,  Stella.  Get  on  your  apron  and  lend  me  a 
hand  in  the  kitchen,  like  a  good  girl.  We  have  to  eat, 
no  matter  what  happens." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    DIGNITY    (?)    OF    TOIL 

By  such  imperceptible  degrees  that  she  was  scarce 
aware  of  it,  Stella  took  her  place  as  a  cog  in  her 
brother's  logging  machine,  a  unit  in  the  human  mechan- 
ism which  he  operated  skilfully  and  relentlessly  at  top 
speed  to  achieve  his  desired  end  —  one  million  feet  of 
timber  in  boomsticks  by  September  the  first. 

From  the  evening  that  she  stepped  into  the  breach 
created  by  a  drunken  cook,  the  kitchen  burden  settled 
steadily  upon  her  shoulders.  For  a  week  Benton  daily 
expected  and  spoke  of  the  arrival  of  a  new  cook.  Fyfe 
had  wired  a  Vancouver  employment  agency  to  send  one, 
the  day  he  took  Jim  Renfrew  down.  But  either  cooks 
were  scarce,  or  the  order  went  astray,  for  no  rough 
and  ready  kitchen  mechanic  arrived.  Benton  in  the 
meantime  ceased  to  look  for  one.  He  worked  like  a 
horse,  unsparing  of  himself,  unsparing  of  others.  He 
rose  at  half-past  four,  lighted  the  kitchen  fire,  roused 
Stella,  and  helped  her  prepare  breakfast,  preliminary 
to  his  day  in  the  woods.  Later  he  impressed  Katy 
John  into  service  to  wait  on  the  table  and  \vash  dishes. 
He  labored  patiently  to  teach  Stella  certain  simple 
tricks  of  cooking  that  she  did  not  know. 

Quick  of  perception,  as  thorough  as  her  brother  in 
whatsoever  she  set  her  hand  to  do,  Stella  was  soon  equal 


66  BIG   TIMBER 

to  the  job.  And  as  the  days  passed  and  no  camp  cook 
came  to  their  relief,  Benton  left  the  job  to  her  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

"  You  can  handle  that  kitchen  with  Katy  as  well  as 
a  man,"  he  said  to  her  at  last.  "  And  it  will  give  you 
something  to  occupy  your  time.  I'd  have  to  pay  a 
cook  seventy  dollars  a  month.  Katy  draws  twenty-five. 
You  can  credit  yourself  with  the  balance,  and  I'll  pay  off 
when  the  contract  money  comes  in.  We  might  as  well 
keep  the  coin  in  the  family.  I'll  feel  easier,  because  you 
won't  get  drunk  and  jump  the  job  in  a  pinch.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

She  said  the  only  possible  thing  to  say  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. But  she  did  not  say  it  with  pleasure,  nor 
with  any  feeling  of  gratitude.  It  was  hard  work,  and 
she  and  hard  work  were  utter  strangers.  Her  feet 
ached  from  continual  standing  on  them.  The  heat  and 
the  smell  of  stewing  meat  and  vegetables  sickened  her. 
Her  hands  were  growing  rough  and  red  from  dabbling 
in  water,  punching  bread  dough,  handling  the  varied 
articles  of  food  that  go  to  make  up  a  meal.  Upon  hands 
and  forearms  there  stung  continually  certain  small  cuts 
and  burns  that  lack  of  experience  over  a  hot  range  in- 
evitably inflicted  upon  her.  Whereas  time  had  prom- 
ised to  hang  heavy  on  her  hands,  now  an  hour  of  idle- 
ness in  the  day  became  a  precious  boon. 

Yet  in  her  own  way  she  was  as  full  of  determination 
as  her  brother.  She  saw  plainly  enough  that  she  must 
leave  the  drone  stage  behind.  She  perceived  that  to 
be  fed  and  clothed  and  housed  and  to  have  her  wishes 
readily  gratified  was  not  an  inherent  right  —  that  some 


THE   DIGNITY    (?)    OF   TOIL  67 

one  must  foot  the  bill  —  that  now  for  all  she  received 
she  must  return  equitable  value.  At  home  she  had 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  light ;  in  fact,  she  had  never 
thought  of  it  at  all.  Now  that  she  was  beginning  to 
get  a  glimmering  of  her  true  economic  relation  to  the 
world  at  large,  she  had  no  wish  to  emulate  the  clinging 
vine,  even  if  thereby  she  could  have  secured  a  continu- 
ance of  that  silk-lined  existence  which  had  been  her 
fortunate  lot.  Her  pride  revolted  against  parasitism. 
It  was  therefore  a  certain  personal  satisfaction  to  have 
achieved  self-support  at  a  stroke,  insofar  as  that  in 
the  sweat  of  her  brow, —  all  too  literally, —  she  earned 
her  bread  and  a  compensation  besides.  But  there  were 
times  when  that  solace  seemed  scarcely  to  weigh  against 
her  growing  detest  for  the  endless  routine  of  her  task, 
the  exasperating  physical  weariness  and  irritations  it 
brought  upon  her. 

For  to  prepare  three  times  daily  food  for  a  dozen 
hungry  men  is  no  mean  undertaking.  One  cannot  have 
in  a  logging  camp  the  conveniences  of  a  hotel  kitchen. 
The  water  must  be  carried  in  buckets  from  the  creek 
near  by,  and  wood  brought  in  armfuls  from  the  pile  of 
sawn  blocks  outside.  The  low-roofed  kitchen  shanty 
was  always  like  an  oven.  The  flies  swarmed  in  their 
tens  of  thousands.  As  the  men  sweated  with  axe  and 
saw  in  the  woods,  so  she  sweated  in  the  kitchen.  And 
her  work  began  two  hours  before  their  day's  labor,  and 
continued  two  hours  after  they  were  done.  She  slept 
like  one  exhausted  and  rose  full  of  sleep-heaviness,  full 
of  bodily  soreness  and  spiritual  protest  when  the  alarm 
clock  raised  its  din  in  the  cool  morning. 


68  BIG    TIMBER 

"  You  don't  like  thees  work,  do  you,  Mees  Benton  ?  " 
Katy  John  said  to  her  one  day,  in  the  soft,  slurring 
accent  that  colored  her  English.  "  You  wasn't  cut  out 
for  a  cook." 

"  This  isn't  work,"  Stella  retorted  irritably.  "  It's 
simple  drudgery.  I  don't  wonder  that  men  cooks  take 
to  drink." 

Katy  laughed. 

"  Why  don't  you  be  nice  to  Mr.  Abbey,"  she  sug- 
gested archly.  "  He'd  like  to  give  you  a  better  j  ob 
than  thees  —  for  life.  My,  but  it  must  be  nice  to  have 
lots  of  money  like  that  man's  got,  and  never  have  to 
work." 

"  You'll  get  those  potatoes  peeled  sooner  if  you  don't 
talk  quite  so  much,  Katy,"  Miss  Benton  made  reply. 

There  was  that  way  out,  as  the  Siwash  girl  broadly 
indicated.  Paul  Abbey  had  grown  into  the  habit  of 
coming  there  rather  more  often  than  mere  neighbor- 
liness  called  for,  and  it  was  palpable  that  he  did  not 
come  to  hold  converse  with  Benton  or  Benton's  gang, 
although  he  was  "  hail  fellow  "  with  all  woodsmen.  At 
first  his  coming  might  have  been  laid  to  any  whim. 
Latterly  Stella  herself  was  unmistakably  the  attrac- 
tion. He  brought  his  sister  once,  a  fair-haired  girl 
about  Stella's  age.  She  proved  an  exceedingly  self- 
contained  young  person,  whose  speech  during  the  hour 
of  her  stay  amounted  to  a  dozen  or  so  drawling  sen- 
tences. With  no  hint  of  condescension  or  supercilious- 
ness, she  still  managed  to  arouse  in  Stella  a  mild  degree 
of  resentment.  She  wore  an  impeccable  pongee  silk, 
simple  and  costly,  and  Tier  hands  had  evidently  never 


THE   DIGNITY    (?)    OF   TOIL  69 

known  the  roughening  of  work.  In  one  way  and  an- 
other Miss  Benton  straightway  conceived  an  active  dis- 
like for  Linda  Abbey.  As  her  reception  of  Paul's  sis- 
ter was  not  conducive  to  churaminess,  Paul  did  not  bring 
Linda  again. 

But  he  came  oftener  than  Stella  desired  to  be  bothered 
with  him.  Charlie  was  beginning  to  indulge  in  some 
rather  broad  joking,  which  offended  and  irritated  her. 
She  was  not  in  the  least  attracted  to  Paul  Abbey.  He 
was  a  nice  enough  young  man ;  for  all  she  knew,  he 
might  be  a  concentration  of  all  the  manly  virtues,  but 
he  gave  no  fillip  to  either  her  imagination  or  her  emo- 
tions. He  was  too  much  like  a  certain  type  of  young 
fellow  she  had  known  in  other  embodiments.  Her  in- 
stinct warned  her  that  stripped  of  his  worldly  goods  he 
would  be  wrholly  commonplace.  She  could  be  friends 
with  the  Paul  Abbey  kind  of  man,  but  when  she  tried 
to  consider  him  as  a  possible  lover,  she  found  herself 
unresponsive,  even  amused.  She  was  forced  to  consider 
it,  because  Abbey  was  fast  approaching  that  stage.  It 
was  heralded  in  the  look  of  dumb  appeal  that  she  fre- 
quently surprised  in  his  gaze,  by  various  signs  and 
tokens,  that  Stella  Benton  was  too  sophisticated  to 
mistake.  One  of  these  days  he  would  lay  his  heart  and 
hand  at  her  feet. 

Sometimes  she  considered  what  her  life  might  be  if 
she  should  marry  him.  Abbey  was  wealthy  in  his  own 
right  and  heir  to  more  wealth.  But  —  she  could  not 
forbear  a  wry  grimace  at  the  idea.  Some  fateful  hour 
love  would  flash  across  her  horizon,  a  living  flame.  She 
could  visualize  the  tragedy  if  it  should  be  too  late,  if 


70  BIG   TIMBER 

it  found  her  already  bound  —  sold  for  a  mess  of  pottage 
at  her  ease.  She  did  not  mince  words  to  herself  when 
she  reflected  on  this  matter.  She  knew  herself  as  a 
creature  of  passionate  impulses,  consciously  resenting 
all  restraint.  She  knew  that  men  and  women  did  mad 
things  under  the  spur  of  emotion.  She  wanted  no 
shackles,  she  wanted  to  be  free  to  face  the  great  ad- 
venture when  it  came. 

Yet  there  were  times  during  the  weeks  that  flitted 
past  when  it  seemed  to  her  that  no  bondage  could  be 
meaner,  more  repugnant,  than  that  daily  slavery  in  her 
brother's  kitchen ;  that  transcendent  conceptions  of  love 
and  marriage  were  vain  details  by  comparison  with 
aching  feet  and  sleep-heavy  eyes,  with  the  sting  of  burns, 
the  smart  of  sweat  on  her  face,  all  the  never-ending 
trifles  that  so  irritated  her.  She  had  been  spoiled  in 
the  making  for  so  sordid  an  existence.  Sometimes  she 
would  sit  amid  the  array  of  dishes  and  pans  and  cooking 
food  and  wonder  if  she  really  were  the  same  being  whose 
life  had  been  made  up  of  books  and  music,  of  teas  and 
dinners  and  plays,  of  light,  inconsequential  chatter 
with  genial,  well-dressed  folk.  There  was  no  one  to 
talk  to  here  and  less  time  to  talk.  There  was  nothing 
to  read  except  a  batch  of  newspapers  filtering  into  camp 
once  a  week  or  ten  days.  There  was  not  much  in  this 
monster  stretch  of  giant  timber  but  heat  and  dirt  and 
flies  and  hungry  men  who  must  be  fed. 

If  Paul  Abbey  had  chanced  to  ask  her  to  marry  him 
during  a  period  of  such  bodily  and  spiritual  rebellion, 
she  would  probably  have  committed  herself  to  that 
means  of  escape  in  sheer  desperation.  For  she  did  not 


THE    DIGNITY    (?)    OF   TOIL  71 

harden  to  the  work ;  it  steadily  sapped  both  her  strength 
and  patience.  But  he  chose  an  ill  time  for  his  declara- 
tion. Stella  had  overtaken  her  work  and  snared  a  fleet- 
ing hour  of  idleness  in  mid-afternoon  of  a  hot  day  in 
early  August.  Under  a  branchy  alder  at  the  cook- 
house-end she  piled  all  the  pillows  she  could  commandeer 
in  their  quarters  and  curled  herself  upon  them  at  grate- 
ful ease.  Like  a  tired  animal,  she  gave  herself  up  to 
the  pleasure  of  physical  relaxation,  staring  at  a  perfect 
turquoise  sky  through  the  whispering  leaves  above.  She 
was  not  even  thinking.  She  was  too  tired  to  think, 
and  for  the  time  being  too  much  at  peace  to  permit 
thought  that  would,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  be 
disturbing. 

Abbey  maintained  for  his  own  pleasure  a  fast  motor- 
boat.  He  slid  now  into  the  bay  unheard,  tied  up  be- 
side the  float,  walked  to  the  kitchen,  glanced  in,  then 
around  the  corner,  and  smilingly  took  a  seat  on  the 
grass  near  her. 

"  It's  too  perfect  a  day  to  loaf  in  the  shade,"  he 
observed,  after  a  brief  exchange  of  commonplaces. 
"  Won't  you  come  out  for  a  little  spin  on  the  lake  ?  A 
ride  in  the  Wolf  will  put  some  color  in  your  cheeks." 

"  If  I  had  time,"  she  said,  "  I  would.  But  loggers 
must  eat  though  the  heavens  fall.  In  about  twenty 
minutes  I'll  have  to  start  supper.  I'll  have  color 
enough,  goodness  knows  once  I  get  over  that  stove." 

Abbey  picked  nervously  at  a  blade  of  grass  for  a 
minute. 

"  This  is  a  regular  dog's  life  for  you,"  he  broke  out 
suddenly. 


72  BIG   TIMBER 

"Oh,  hardly  that,"  she  protested.  "It's  a  little 
hard  on  me  because  I  haven't  been  used  to  it,  that's 
all." 

"  It's  Chinaman's  work,"  he  said  hotly.  "  Charlie 
oughtn't  to  let  you  stew  in  that  kitchen." 

Stella  said  nothing ;  she  was  not  moved  to  the  defence 
of  her  brother.  She  was  loyal  enough  to  her  blood,  but 
not  so  intensely  loyal  that  she  could  defend  him  against 
criticism  that  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  her  own  mind. 
She  was  beginning  to  see  that,  being  useful,  Charlie  was 
making  use  of  her.  His  horizon  had  narrowed  to  logs 
that  might  be  transmuted  into  money.  Enslaved  him- 
self by  his  engrossing  purposes,  he  thought  nothing  of 
enslaving  others  to  serve  his  end.  She  had  come  to  a 
definite  conclusion  about  that,  and  she  meant  to  collect 
her  wages  when  he  sold  his  logs,  collect  also  the  ninety 
dollars  of  her  money  he  had  coolly  appropriated,  and 
try  a  different  outlet.  If  one  must  work,  one  might  at 
least  seek  work  a  little  to  one's  taste.  She  therefore 
dismissed  Abbey's  comment  carelessly: 

"  Some  one  has  to  do  it." 

A  faint  flush  crept  slowly  up  into  his  round,  boyish 
face.  He  looked  at  her  with  disconcerting  steadiness. 
Perhaps  something  in  his  expression  gave  her  the  key 
to  his  thought,  or  it  may  have  been  that  peculiar  psy- 
chical receptiveness  which  in  a  woman  we  are  pleased 
to  call  intuition;  but  at  any  rate  Stella  divined  what 
was  coming  and  would  have  forestalled  it  by  rising. 
He  prevented  that  move  by  catching  her  hands. 

"Look  here,  Stella,"  he  blurted  out,  "it  just  grinds 
me  to  death  to  see  you  slaving  away  in  this  camp,  feed- 


THE    DIGNITY    (?)    OF   TOIL  73 

ing  a  lot  of  roughnecks.  Won't  you  marry  me  and 
cut  this  sort  of  thing  out?  We'd  be  no  end  good 
chums." 

She  gently  disengaged  her  hands,  her  chief  sensation 
one  of  amusement,  Abbey  was  in  such  an  agony  of 
blushing  diffidence,  all  flustered  at  his  own  temerity. 
Also,  she  thought,  a  trifle  precipitate.  That  was  not 
the  sort  of  wooing  to  carry  her  off  her  feet.  For  that 
matter  she  was  quite  sure  nothing  Paul  Abbey  could  do 
or  say  would  ever  stir  her  pulses.  She  had  to  put  an 
end  to  the  situation,  however.  She  took  refuge  in  a 
flippant  manner. 

"  Thanks  for  the  compliment,  Mr.  Abbey,"  she  smiled. 
"  But  really  I  couldn't  think  of  inflicting  repentance 
at  leisure  on  you  in  that  offhand  way.  You  wouldn't 
want  me  to  marry  you  just  so  I  could  resign  the  job 
of  chef,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  like  me?  "  he  asked  plaintively. 

"  Not  that  way,"  she  answered  positively. 

"  You  might  try,"  he  suggested  hopefully.  "  Honest, 
I'm  crazy  about  you.  I've  liked  you  ever  since  I  saw 
you  first.  I  wouldn't  want  any  greater  privilege  than 
to  marry  you  and  take  you  away  from  this  sort  of 
thing.  You're  too  good  for  it.  Maybe  I'm  kind  of 
sudden,  but  I  know  my  own  mind.  Can't  you  take  a 
chance  with  me?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  gently,  seeing  him  so  sadly 
in  earnest.  "  It  isn't  a  question  of  taking  a  chance. 
I  don't  care  for  you.  I  haven't  got  any  feeling  but 
the  mildest  sort  of  friendliness.  If  I  married  you,  it 
would  only  be  for  a  home,  as  the  saying  is.  And  I'm 


74  BIG   TIMBER 

not  made  that  way.  Can't  you  see  how  impossible  it 
would  be  ?  " 

"You'd  get  to  like  me,"  he  declared.  "I'm  just 
as  good  as  the  next  man." 

His  smooth  pink-and-white  skin  reddened  again. 

"  That  sounds  a  lot  like  tooting  my  own  horn  mighty 
strong,"  said  he.  "  But  I'm  in  dead  earnest.  If  there 
isn't  anybody  else  yet,  you  could  like  me  just  as 
well  as  the  next  fellow.  I'd  be  awfully  good  to 
you." 

"  I  daresay  you  would,"  she  said  quietly.  "  But  I 
couldn't  be  good  to  you.  I  don't  want  to  marry  you, 
Mr.  Abbey.  That's  final.  All  the  feeling  I  have  for 
you  isn't  enough  for  any  woman  to  marry  on." 

"  Maybe  not,"  he  said  dolefully.  "  I  suppose  that's 
the  way  it  goes.  Hang  it,  I  guess  I  was  a  little  too 
sudden.  But  I'm  a  stayer.  Maybe  you'll  change  your 
mind  some  time." 

He  was  standing  very  near  her,  and  they  were  both  so 
intent  upon  the  momentous  business  that  occupied  them 
that  neither  noticed  Charlie  Benton  until  his  hail 
startled  them  to  attention. 

"  Hello,  folks,"  he  greeted  and  passed  on  into  the 
cook  shanty,  bestowing  upon  Stella,  over  Abbey's  shoul- 
der, a  comprehensive  grin  which  nettled  her  exceedingly. 
Her  peaceful  hour  had  been  disturbed  to  no  purpose. 
She  did  not  want  to  love  or  be  loved.  For  the  moment 
she  felt  old  beyond  her  years,  mature  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  any  man.  If  she  had  voiced  her  real  atti- 
tude toward  Paul  Abbey,  she  would  have  counseled  him 
to  run  and  play,  "  like  a  good  little  boy." 


THE   DIGNITY    (?)    OF   TOIL          75 

Instead  she  remarked :  "  I  must  get  to  work,"  and 
left  her  downcast  suitor  without  further  ceremony. 

As  she  went  about  her  work  in  the  kitchen,  she  saw 
Abbey  seat  himself  upon  a  log  in  the  yard,  his  coun- 
tenance wreathed  in  gloom.  He  was  presently  joined 
by  her  brother.  Glancing  out,  now  and  then,  she  made 
a  guess  at  the  meat  of  their  talk,  and  her  lip  curled 
slightly.  She  saw  them  walk  down  to  Abbey's  launch, 
and  Charlie  delivered  an  encouraging  slap  on  Paul's 
shoulder  as  he  embarked.  Then  the  speedy  craft  tore 
out  of  the  bay  at  a  headlong  gait,  her  motor  roaring  in 
unmuffled  exhaust,  wide  wings  of  white  spray  arching 
off  her  flaring  bows. 

"  The  desperate  recklessness  of  thwarted  affection  — 
fiddlesticks ! "  Miss  Benton  observed  in  sardonic  mood. 
Her  hands  were  deep  in  pie  dough.  She  thumped  it 
viciously.  The  kitchen  and  the  flies  and  all  the  rest 
of  it  rasped  at  her  nerves  again. 

Charlie  came  into  the  kitchen,  hunted  a  cookie  out  of 
the  tin  box  where  such  things  were  kept,  and  sat  swing- 
ing one  leg  over  a  corner  of  the  table,  eying  her  criti- 
cally while  he  munched. 

"  So  you  turned  Paul  down,  eh  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 
"  You're  the  prize  chump.  You've  missed  the  best 
chance  you'll  ever  have  to  put  yourself  on  Easy  Street." 


CHAPTER  VII 

SOME    NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE 

For  a  week  thereafter  Benton  developed  moods  of 
sourness,  periods  of  scowling  thought.  He  tried  to 
speed  up  his  gang,  and  having  all  spring  driven  them 
at  top  speed,  the  added  straw  broke  the  back  of  their 
patience,  and  Stella  heard  some  sharp  interchanges  of 
words.  He  quelled  one  incipient  mutiny  through  sheer 
dominance,  but  it  left  him  more  short  of  temper,  more 
crabbedly  moody  than  ever.  Eventually  his  ill-nature 
broke  out  against  Stella  over  some  trifle,  and  she  — 
being  herself  an  aggrieved  party  to  his  transactions  — 
surprised  her  own  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  by  re- 
taliating in  kind. 

"  I'm  slaving  away  in  your  old  camp  from  daylight 
till  dark  at  work  I  despise,  and  you  can't  even  speak 
decently  to  me,"  she  flared  up.  "  You  act  like  a  perfect 
brute  lately.  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

Benton  gnawed  at  a  finger  nail  in  silence. 

"  Hang  it,  I  guess  you're  right,"  he  admitted  at  last. 
"  But  I  can't  help  having  a  grouch.  I'm  going  to  fall 
behind  on  this  contract,  the  best  I  can  do." 

"  Well,"  she  replied  tartly.  "  I'm  not  to  blame  for 
that.  I'm  not  responsible  for  your  failure.  Why  take 
it  out  on  me?  " 


NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE  77 

"  I  don't,  particularly,"  he  answered.  "  Only  — 
can't  you  sdbe?  A  man  gets  on  edge  when  he  works 
and  sweats  for  months  and  sees  it  all  about  to  come  to 
nothing." 

"  So  does  a  woman,"  she  made  pointed  retort. 

Benton  chose  to  ignore  the  inference. 

"If  I  fall  down  on  this,  it'll  just  about  finish  me," 
he  continued  glumly.  "  These  people  are  not  going  to 
allow  me  an  inch  leeway.  I'll  have  to  deliver  on  that 
contract  to  the  last  stipulated  splinter  before  they'll 
pay  over  a  dollar.  If  I  don't  have  a  million  feet  for 
'em  three  weeks  from  to-day,  it's  all  off,  and  maybe  a 
suit  for  breach  of  contract  besides.  That's  the  sort 
they  are.  If  they  can  wiggle  out  of  taking  my  logs, 
they'll  be  to  the  good,  because  they've  made  other  con- 
tracts down  the  coast  at  fifty  cents  a  thousand  less. 
And  the  aggravating  thing  about  it  is  that  if  I  could 
get  by  with  this  deal,  I  can  close  a  five-million-foot  con- 
tract with  the  Abbey-Monohan  outfit,  for  delivery  next 
spring.  I  must  have  the  money  for  this  before  I  can 
undertake  the  bigger  contract." 

"  Can't  you  sell  your  logs  if  these  other  people  won't 
take  them  ?  "  she  asked,  somewhat  alive  now  to  his  posi- 
tion —  and,  incidentally,  her  own  interest  therein. 

"  In  time,  yes,"  he  said.  "  But  when  you  go  into 
the  open  market  with  logs,  you  don't  always  find  a 
buyer  right  off  the  reel.  I'd  have  to  hire  'em  towed 
from  here  to  Vancouver,  and  there's  some  bad  water  to 
get  over.  Time  is  money  to  me  right  now,  Stell.  If 
the  thing  dragged  over  two  or  three  months,  by  the 
time  they  were  sold  and  all  expenses  paid,  I  might  not 


78  BIG   TIMBER 

have  anything  left.  I'm  in  debt  for  supplies,  behind  in 
wages.  When  it  looks  like  a  man's  losing,  everybody 
jumps  him.  That's  business.  I  may  have  my  outfit 
seized  and  sold  up  if  I  fall  down  on  this  delivery  and 
fail  to  square  up  accounts  right  away.  Damn  it,  if 
you  hadn't  given  Paul  Abbey  the  cold  turn-down,  I 
might  have  got  a  boost  over  this  hill.  You  were  cer- 
tainly a  chump." 

"  I'm  not  a  mere  pawn  in  your  game  yet,"  she  flared 
hotly.  "  I  suppose  you'd  trade  me  for  logs  enough 
to  complete  your  contract  and  consider  it  a  good  bar- 
gain." 

"  Oh,  piffle,"  he  answered  coolly.  "  What's  the  use 
talking  like  that.  It's  your  game  as  much  as  mine. 
Where  do  you  get  off,  if  I  go  broke?  You  might  have 
done  a  heap  worse.  Paul's  a  good  head.  A  girl  that 
hasn't  anything  but  her  looks  to  get  through  the  world 
on  hasn't  any  business  overlooking  a  bet  like  that. 
Nine  girls  out  of  ten  marry  for  what  there  is  in  it, 
anyhow." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied  angrily.  "  I'm  not  in  the 
market  on  that  basis." 

"  All  this  stuff  about  ideal  love  and  soul  communion 
and  perfect  mating  is  pure  bunk,  it  seems  to  me,"  Charlie 
tacked  off  on  a  new  course  of  thought.  "  A  man  and 
a  woman  somewhere  near  of  an  age  generally  hit  it  off 
all  right,  if  they've  got  common  horse  sense  —  and  in- 
come enough  so  they  don't  have  to  squabble  eternally 
about  where  the  next  new  hat  and  suit's  coming  from. 
It's  the  coin  that  counts  most  of  all.  It  sure  is,  Sis. 
It's  me  that  knows  it,  right  now." 


NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE  79 

He  sat  a  minute  or  two  longer,  again  preoccupied 
with  his  problems. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I've  got  to  get  action  some- 
how. If  I  could  get  about  thirty  men  and  another 
donkey  for  three  weeks,  I'd  make  it." 

He  went  outside.  Up  in  the  near  woods  the  whine  of 
the  saws  and  the  sounds  of  chopping  kept  measured 
beat.  It  was  late  in  the  forenoon,  and  Stella  was  hard 
about  her  dinner  preparations.  Contract  or  no  con- 
tract, money  or  no  money,  men  must  eat.  That  fact 
loomed  biggest  on  her  daily  schedule,  left  her  no  room 
to  think  overlong  of  other  things.  Her  huff  over,  she 
felt  rather  sorry  for  Charlie,  a  feeling  accentuated  by 
sight  of  him  humped  on  a  log  in  the  sun,  too  engrossed 
in  his  perplexities  to  be  where  he  normally  was  at  that 
hour,  in  the  thick  of  the  logging,  working  harder  than 
any  of  his  men. 

A  little  later  she  saw  him  put  off  from  the  float  in  the 
Chickamin's  dinghy.  When  the  crew  came  to  dinner, 
he  had  not  returned.  Nor  was  he  back  when  they  went 
out  again  at  one. 

Near  mid-afternoon,  however,  he  strode  into  the 
kitchen,  wearing  the  look  of  a  conqueror. 

"  I've  got  it  fixed,"  he  announced. 

Stella  looked  up  from  a  frothy  mass  of  yellow  stuff 
that  she  was  stirring  in  a  pan. 

"  Got  what  fixed  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  this  log  business,"  he  said.  "  Jack  Fyfe  is 
going  to  put  in  a  crew  and  a  donkey,  and  we're  going 
to  everlastingly  rip  the  innards  out  of  these  woods. 
I'll  make  delivery  after  all." 


8o  BIG   TIMBER 

"  That's  good,"  she  remarked,  but  noticeably  without 
enthusiasm.  The  heat  of  that  low-roofed  shanty  had 
taken  all  possible  enthusiasm  for  anything  out  of  her 
for  the  time  being.  Always  toward  the  close  of  each 
day  she  was  gripped  by  that  feeling  of  deadly  fatigue, 
in  the  face  of  which  nothing  much  mattered  but  to  get 
through  the  last  hours  somehow  and  drag  herself  wearily 
to  bed. 

Benton  playfully  tweaked  Katy  John's  ear  and  went 
whistling  up  the  trail.  It  was  plain  sailing  for  him 
now,  and  he  was  correspondingly  elated. 

He  tried  to  talk  to  Stella  that  evening  when  she  was 
through,  all  about  big  things  in  the  future,  big  con- 
tracts he  could  get,  big  money  he  could  see  his  way  to 
make.  It  fell  mostly  on  unappreciative  ears.  She  was 
tired,  so  tired  that  his  egotistical  chatter  irritated  her 
beyond  measure.  What  she  would  have  welcomed  with 
heartfelt  gratitude  was  not  so  much  a  prospect  of  future 
affluence  in  which  she  might  or  might  not  share  as  a 
lightening  of  her  present  burden.  So  far  as  his  con- 
versation ran,  Benton's  sole  concern  seemed  to  be  more 
equipment,  more  men,  so  that  he  might  get  out  more 
logs.  In  the  midst  of  this  optimistic  talk,  Stella  walked 
abruptly  into  her  room. 

Noon  of  the  next  day  brought  the  Panther  coughing 
into  the  bay,  flanked  on  the  port  side  by  a  scow  upon 
which  rested  a  twin  to  the  iron  monster  that  jerked  logs 
into  her  brother's  chute.  To  starboard  was  made  fast 
a  like  scow.  That  was  housed  over,  a  smoking  stove- 
pipe stuck  through  the  roof,  and  a  capped  and  aproned 
cook  rested  his  arms  on  the  window  sill  as  they  floated 


NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE  81 

In.  Men  to  the  number  of  twenty  or  more  clustered 
about  both  scows  and  the  Panther's  deck,  busy  with  pipe 
and  cigarette  and  rude  jest.  The  clatter  of  their  voices 
uprose  through  the  noon  meal.  But  when  the  donkey 
scow  thrust  its  blunt  nose  against  the  beach,  the  chaff 
and  laughter  died  into  silent,  capable  action. 

"  A  Seattle  yarder  properly  handled  can  do  anything 
but  climb  a  tree,"  Charlie  had  once  boasted  to  her,  in 
reference  to  his  own  machine. 

It  seemed  quite  possible  to  Stella,  watching  Jack 
Fyfe's  crew  at  work.  Steam  was  up  in  the  donkey. 
They  carried  a  line  from  its  drum  through  a  snatch 
block  ashore  and  jerked  half  a  dozen  logs  crosswise  be- 
fore the  scow  in  a  matter  of  minutes.  Then  the  same 
cable  was  made  fast  to  a  sturdy  fir,  the  engineer  stood 
by,  and  the  ponderous  machine  slid  forward  on  its  own 
skids,  like  an  up-ended  barrel  on  a  sled,  down  off  the 
scow,  up  the  bank,  smashing  brush,  branches,  dead 
roots,  all  that  stood  in  its  path,  drawing  steadily  up  to 
the  anchor  tree  as  the  cable  spooled  up  on  the  drum. 

A  dozen  men  tailed  on  to  the  inch  and  a  quarter 
cable  and  bore  the  loose  end  away  up  the  path.  Pres- 
ently one  stood  clear,  waving  a  signal.  Again  the  don- 
key began  to  puff  and  quiver,  the  line  began  to  roll 
up  on  the  drum,  and  the  big  yarder  walked  up  the  slope 
under  its  own  power,  a  locomotive  unneedful  of  rails, 
making  its  own  right  of  way.  Upon  the  platform  built 
over  the  skids  were  piled  the  tools  of  the  crew,  sawed 
blocks  for  the  fire  box,  axes,  saws,  grindstones,  all  that 
was  necessary  in  their  task.  At  one  o'clock  they  made 
their  first  move.  At  two  the  donkey  was  vanished  into 


82  BIG   TIMBER 

that  region  where  the  chute-head  lay,  and  the  great 
firs  stood  waiting  the  slaughter. 

By  mid-afternoon  Stella  noticed  an  acceleration  of 
numbers  in  the  logs  that  came  hurtling  lakeward.  Now 
at  shorter  intervals  arose  the  grinding  sound  of  their 
arrival,  the  ponderous  splash  as  each  leaped  to  the 
water.  It  was  a  good  thing,  she  surmised  —  for  Charlie 
Benton.  She  could  not  see  where  it  made  much  differ- 
ence to  her  whether  ten  logs  a  day  or  a  hundred  came 
down  to  the  boomsticks. 

Late  that  afternoon  Katy  vanished  upon  one  of  her 
periodic  visits  to  the  camp  of  her  kindred  around  the 
point.  Bred  out  of  doors,  of  a  tribe  whose  immemorial 
custom  it  is  that  the  women  do  all  the  work,  the  Siwash 
girl  was  strong  as  an  ox,  and  nearly  as  bovine  in  tem- 
perament and  movements.  She  could  lift  with  ease  a 
weight  that  taxed  Stella's  strength,  and  Stella  Benton 
was  no  weakling,  either.  It  was  therefore  a  part  of 
Katy's  routine  to  keep  water  pails  filled  from  the  creek 
and  the  wood  box  supplied,  in  addition  to  washing  dishes 
and  carrying  food  to  the  table.  Katy  slighted  these 
various  tasks  occasionally.  She  needed  oversight,  con- 
tinual admonition,  to  get  any  job  done  in  time.  She 
was  slow  to  the  point  of  exasperation.  Nevertheless, 
she  lightened  the  day's  labor,  and  Stella  put  up  with  her 
slowness  since  she  needs  must  or  assume  the  entire  bur- 
den herself.  This  time  Katy  thoughtlessly  left  with 
both  water  pails  empty. 

Stella  was  just  picking  them  up  off  the  bench  when 
a  shadow  darkened  the  door,  and  she  looked  around 
to  see  Jack  Fyfe. 


NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE  83 

"  How  d'  do,"  he  greeted. 

He  had  seemed  a  short  man.  Now,  standing  within 
four  feet  of  her,  she  perceived  that  this  was  an  illusion 
created  by  the  proportion  and  thickness  of  his  body. 
He  was,  in  fact,  half  a  head  taller  than  she,  and  Stella 
stood  five  feet  five.  His  gray  eyes  met  hers  squarely, 
with  a  cool,  impersonal  quality  of  gaze.  There  was 
neither  smirk  nor  embarrassment  in  his  straightforward 
glance.  He  was,  in  effect,  "  sizing  her  up  "  just  as 
he  would  have  looked  casually  over  a  logger  asking  him 
for  a  job.  Stella  sensed  that,  and  resenting  it  momen- 
tarily, failed  to  match  his  manner.  She  flushed.  Fyfe 
smiled,  a  broad,  friendly  grin,  in  which  a  wide  mouth 
opened  to  show  strong,  even  teeth. 

"  I'm  after  a  drink,"  he  said  quite  impersonally,  and 
coolly  taking  the  pails  out  of  her  hands,  walked  through 
the  kitchen  and  down  to  the  creek.  He  was  back  in 
a  minute,  set  the  filled  buckets  in  their  place,  and  helped 
himself  with  a  dipper. 

"  Say,"  he  asked  easily,  "  how  do  you  like  life  in  a 
logging  camp  by  this  time?  This  is  sure  one  hot  job 
you've  got." 

"  Literally  or  slangily?  "  she  asked  in  a  flippant  tone. 
Fyfe's  reputation,  rather  vividly  colored,  had  reached 
her  from  various  sources.  She  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  she  cared  to  countenance  him  or  not.  There 
was  a  disturbing  quality  in  his  glance,  a  subtle  sugges- 
tion of  force  about  him  that  she  felt  without  being  able 
to  define  in  understandable  terms.  In  any  case  she 
felt  more  than  equal  to  the  task  of  squelching  any  effort 
at  familiarity,  even  if  Jack  Fyfe  were,  in  a  sense,  the 


84  BIG    TIMBER 

convenient  god  in  her  brother's  machine.  Fyfe  chuckled 
at  her  answer. 

"  Both,"  he  replied  shortly  and  went  out. 

She  saw  him  a  little  later  out  on  the  bay  in  the 
Panther's  dink,  standing  up  in  the  little  boat,  making 
long,  graceful  casts  with  a  pliant  rod.  She  perceived 
that  this  manner  of  fishing  was  highly  successful,  inso- 
much as  at  every  fourth  or  fifth  cast  a  trout  struck  his 
fly,  breaking  water  with  a  vigorous  splash.  Then  the 
bamboo  would  arch  as  the  fish  struggled,  making  sundry 
leaps  clear  of  the  water,  gleaming  like  silver  each  time 
he  broke  the  surface,  but  coming  at  last  tamely  to  Jack 
Fyfe's  landing  net.  Of  outdoor  sports  she  knew  most 
about  angling,  for  her  father  had  been  an  ardent  fly- 
caster.  And  she  had  observed  with  a  true  angler's 
scorn  the  efforts  of  her  brother's  loggers  to  catch  the 
lake  trout  with  a  baited  hook,  at  which  they  had  scant 
success.  Charlie  never  fished.  He  had  neither  time  nor 
inclination  for  such  fooling,  as  he  termed  it.  Fyfe 
stopped  fishing  when  the  donkeys  whistled  six.  It  hap- 
pened that  when  he  drew  in  to  his  cookhouse  float,  Stella 
was  standing  in  her  kitchen  door.  Fyfe  looked  up  at 
her  and  held  aloft  a  dozen  trout  strung  by  the  gills  on 
a  stick,  gleaming  in  the  sun. 

"  Vanity,"  she  commented  inaudibly.  "  I  wonder  if 
he  thinks  I've  been  admiring  his  skill  as  a  fisherman?  " 

Nevertheless  she  paid  tribute  to  his  skill  when  ten 
minutes  later  he  sent  a  logger  with  the  entire  catch  to 
her  kitchen.  They  looked  toothsome,  those  lakers,  and 
they  were.  She  cooked  one  for  her  own  supper  and 
relished  it  as  a  change  from  the  everlasting  bacon  and 


NEIGHBORLY    ASSISTANCE  85 

ham.  In  the  face  of  that  million  feet  of  timber,  Benton 
hunted  no  deer.  True,  the  Siwashes  had  once  or  twice 
brought  in  some  venison.  That,  with  a  roast  or  two 
of  beef  from  town,  was  all  the  fresh  meat  she  had  tasted 
in  two  months.  There  were  enough  trout  to  make  a 
breakfast  for  the  crew.  She  ate  hers  and  mentally 
thanked  Jack  Fyfe. 

Lying  in  her  bed  that  night,  in  the  short  interval  that 
came  between  undressing  and  wearied  sleep,  she  found 
herself  wondering  with  a  good  deal  more  interest  about 
Jack  Fyfe  than  she  had  ever  bestowed  upon  —  well, 
Paul  Abbey,  for  instance. 

She  was  quite  positive  that  she  was  going  to  dislike 
Jack  Fyfe  if  he  were  thrown  much  in  her  way.  There 
was  something  about  him  that  she  resented.  The  dif- 
ference between  him  and  the  rest  of  the  rude  crew  among 
which  she  must  perforce  live  was  a  question  of  degree, 
not  of  kind.  There  was  certainly  some  compelling 
magnetism  about  the  man.  But  along  with  it  went  what 
she  considered  an  almost  brutal  directness  of  speech 
and  action.  Part  of  this  conclusion  came  from  hearsay, 
part  from  observation,  limited  though  her  opportunities 
had  been  for  the  latter.  Miss  Stella  Benton,  for  all 
her  poise,  was  not  above  jumping  at  conclusions. 
There  was  something  about  Jack  Fyfe  that  she  re- 
sented. She  irritably  dismissed  it  as  a  foolish  impres- 
sion, but  the  fact  remained  that  the  mere  physical  near- 
ness of  him  seemed  to  put  her  on  the  defensive,  as  if  he 
were  in  reality  a  hunter  and  she  the  hunted. 

Fyfe  j  oined  Charlie  Benton  about  the  time  she  finished 
work.  The  three  of  them  sat  on  the  grass  before  Ben- 


86  BIG   TIMBER 

ton's  quarters,  and  every  time  Jack  Fyfe's  eyes  rested 
on  her  she  steeled  herself  to  resist  —  what,  she  did  not 
know.  Something  intangible,  something  that  disturbed 
her.  She  had  never  experienced  anything  like  that  be- 
fore ;  it  tantalized  her,  roused  her  curiosity.  There 
was  nothing  occult  about  the  man.  He  was  nowise  fas- 
cinating, either  in  face  or  manner.  He  made  no  bid 
for  her  attention.  Yet  during  the  half  hour  he  sat 
there,  Stella's  mind  revolved  constantly  about  him.  She 
recalled  all  that  she  had  heard  of  him,  much  of  it,  from 
her  point  of  view,  highly  discreditable.  Inevitably  she 
fell  to  comparing  him  with  other  men  she  knew. 

She  had,  in  a  way,  unconsciously  been  prepared  for 
just  such  a  measure  of  concentration  upon  Jack  Fyfe. 
For  he  was  a  power  on  Roaring  Lake,  and  power, — 
physical,  intellectual  or  financial, —  exacts  its  own  trib- 
ute of  consideration.  He  was  a  fighter,  a  dominant, 
hard-bitten  woodsman,  so  the  tale  ran.  He  had  gath- 
ered about  him  the  toughest  crew  on  the  Lake,  himself, 
upon  occasion,  the  most  turbulent  of  all.  He  controlled 
many  square  miles  of  big  timber,  and  he  had  gotten  it 
all  by  his  own  effort  in  the  eight  years  since  he  came  to 
Roaring  Lake  as  a  hand  logger.  He  was  slow  of  speech, 
chain-lightning  in  action,  respected  generally,  feared  a 
lot.  All  these  things  her  brother  and  Katy  John 
had  sketched  for  Stella  with  much  verbal  embellish- 
ment. 

There  was  no  ignoring  such  a  man.  Brought  into 
close  contact  with  the  man  himself,  Stella  felt  the  radiat- 
ing force  of  his  personality.  There  it  was,  a  thing  to 
be  reckoned  with.  She  felt  that  whenever  Jack  Fyfe's 


NEIGHBORLY   ASSISTANCE  87 

gray  eyes  rested  impersonally  on  her.  His  pleasant, 
freckled  face  hovered  before  her  until  she  fell  asleep, 
and  in  her  sleep  she  dreamed  again  of  him  throwing  that 
drunken  logger  down  the  Hot  Springs  slip. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DUBANCE    VILE 

By  September  first  a  growing  uneasiness  hardened 
into  distasteful  certainty  upon  Stella.  It  had  become 
her  firm  resolve  to  get  what  money  was  due  her  when 
Charlie  marketed  his  logs  and  try  another  field  of  labor. 
That  camp  on  Roaring  Lake  was  becoming  a  nightmare 
to  her.  She  had  no  inherent  dislike  for  work.  She  was 
too  vibrantly  alive  to  be  lazy.  But  she  had  had  an  over- 
dose of  unaccustomed  drudgery,  and  she  was  growing 
desperate.  If  there  had  been  anything  to  keep  her  mind 
from  continual  dwelling  on  the  manifold  disagreeable- 
ness  she  had  to  cope  with,  she  might  have  felt  differentl}7, 
but  there  was  not.  She  ate,  slept,  worked, —  ate,  slept, 
and  worked  again, —  till  every  fibre  of  her  being  cried 
out  in  protest  against  the  deadening  round.  She  was 
like  a  flower  striving  to  attain  its  destiny  of  bloom  in 
soil  overrun  with  rank  weeds.  Loneliness  and  hard, 
mean  work,  day  after  day,  in  which  all  that  had  ever 
seemed  desirable  in  life  had  neither  place  nor  considera- 
tion, were  twin  evils  of  isolation  and  flesh-wearying 
labor,  from  which  she  felt  that  she  must  get  away,  or  go 
mad. 

But  she  did  not  go.  Benton  left  to  make  his  delivery 
to  the  mill  company,  the  great  boom  of  logs  gliding 


DURANCE   VILE  89 

slowly  along  in  the  wake  of  a  tug,  the  Chickamin  in 
attendance.  Benton's  crew  accompanied  the  boom. 
Fyfe's  gang  loaded  their  donkey  and  gear  aboard  the 
scow  and  went  home.  The  bay  lay  all  deserted,  the 
woods  silent.  For  the  first  time  in  three  months  she 
had  all  her  hours  free,  only  her  own  wants  to  satisfy. 
Katy  John  spent  most  of  her  time  in  the  smoky  camp 
of  her  people.  Stella  loafed.  For  two  days  she  did 
nothing,  gave  herself  up  to  a  physical  torpor  she  had 
never  known  before.  She  did  not  want  to  read,  to  walk 
about,  or  even  lift  her  eyes  to  the  bold  mountains  that 
loomed  massive  across  the  lake.  It  was  enough  to  lie 
curled  among  pillows  under  the  alder  and  stare  drowsily 
at  the  blue  September  sky,  half  aware  of  the  drone  of 
a  breeze  in  the  firs,  the  flutter  of  birds'  wings,  and  the 
lap  of  water  on  the  beach. 

Presently,  however,  the  old  restless  energy  revived. 
The  spring  came  back  to  her  step  and  she  shed  that 
lethargy  like  a  cast-off  garment.  And  in  so  doing  her 
spirit  rose  in  hot  rebellion  against  being  a  prisoner  to 
deadening  drudgery,  against  being  shut  away  from  all 
the  teeming  life  that  throve  and  trafficked  beyond  the 
solitude  in  which  she  sat  immured.  When  Charlie  came 
back,  there  was  going  to  be  a  change.  She  repeated 
that  to  herself  with  determination.  Between  whiles  she 
rambled  about  in  the  littered  clearing,  prowled  along 
the  beaches,  and  paddled  now  and  then  far  outside  the 
bay  in  a  flat-bottomed  skiff,  restless,  full  of  plans.  So 
far  as  she  saw,  she  would  have  to  face  some  city  alone, 
but  she  viewed  that  prospect  with  a  total  absence  of  the 
helpless  feeling  which  harassed  her  so  when  she  first 


go  BIG   TIMBER 

took  train  for  her  brother's  camp.  She  had  passed 
through  what  she  termed  a  culinary  inferno.  Nothing, 
she  considered,  could  be  beyond  her  after  that  unremit- 
ting drudgery. 

But  Benton  failed  to  come  back  on  the  appointed  day. 
The  four  days  lengthened  to  a  week.  Then  the  Panther, 
bound  up-lake,  stopped  to  leave  a  brief  note  from 
Charlie,  telling  her  business  had  called  him  to  Van- 
couver. 

Altogether  it  was  ten  days  before  the  Chickamin 
whistled  up  the  bay.  She  slid  in  beside  the  {float,  her 
decks  bristling  with  men  like  a  passenger  craft.  Stella, 
so  thoroughly  sated  with  loneliness  that  she  temporarily 
forgot  her  grievances,  flew  to  meet  her  brother.  But 
one  fair  glimpse  of  the  disembarking  crew  turned  her 
back.  They  were  all  in  varying  stages  of  liquor  — 
from  two  or  three  who  had  to  be  hauled  over  the  float 
and  up  to  the  bunkhouse  like  sacks  of  bran,  to  others 
who  were  so  happily  under  the  influence  of  John  Barley- 
corn that  every  move  was  some  silly  antic.  She  re- 
treated in  disgust.  When  Charlie  reached  the  cabin, 
he  himself  proved  to  be  fairly  mellow,  in  the  best  of 
spirits  —  speaking  truly  in  the  double  sense. 

"  Hello,  lady,"  he  hailed  j  ovially.  "  How  did  you 
fare  all  by  your  lonesome  this  long  time?  I  didn't 
figure  to  be  gone  so  long,  but  there  was  a  lot  to  attend 
to.  How  are  you,  anyway  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  she  answered  coolly.  "  You  evidently 
celebrated  your  log  delivery  in  the  accepted  fashion." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  he  grinned  amiably.  "  I  had 
a  few  drinks  with  the  boys  on  the  way  up,  that's  all. 


DURANCE   VILE  91 

.No,  sir,  it  was  straight  business  with  a  capital  B  all  the 
time  I  was  gone.  I've  got  a  good  thing  in  hand,  Sis  — 
big  money  in  sight.  Tell  you  about  it  later.  Think 
you  and  Katy  can  rustle  grub  for  this  bunch  by  six?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  shortly.  It  was  on  the 
tip  of  her  tongue  to  tell  him  then  and  there  that  she 
was  through, —  like  Matt,  the  cook,  that  memorable 
afternoon,  "  completely  an'  ab-sho-lutely  through." 
She  refrained.  There  was  no  use  in  being  truculent. 
But  that  drunken  crowd  looked  formidable  in  numbers. 

"  How  many  extra  ?  "  she  asked  mechanically. 

"  Thirty  men,  all  told,"  Benton  returned  briskly. 
"  I  tell  you  I'm  sure  going  to  rip  the  heart  out  of  this 
limit  before  spring.  I've  signed  up  a  six-million-foot 
contract  for  delivery  as  soon  as  the  logs'll  go  over 
Roaring  Rapids  in  the  spring.  Remember  what  I  told 
you  when  you  came?  You  stick  with  me,  and  you'll 
wear  diamonds.  I  stand  to  clean  up  twenty  thousand 
on  the  winter's  work." 

"  In  that  case,  you  should  be  able  to  hire  a  real 
cook,"  she  suggested,  a  spice  of  malice,  in  her  tone. 

"  I  sure  will,  when  it  begins  to  come  right,"  he 
promised  largely.  "And  I'll  give  you  a  soft  job  keep- 
ing books  then.  Well,  I'll  lend  you  a  hand  for  to-night. 
Where's  the  Siwash  maiden  ?  " 

"  Over  at  the  camp ;  there  she  comes  now,"  Stella  re- 
plied. "  Will  you  start  a  fire,  Charlie,  while  I  change 
my  dress  ?  " 

"  You  look  like  a  peach  in  that  thing."  He  stood  off 
a  pace  to  admire.  "  You're  some  dame,  Stell,  when  you 
get  on  your  glad  rags." 


92  BIG   TIMBER 

She  frowned  at  her  image  in  the  glass  behind  the 
closed  door  of  her  room  as  she  set  about  unfastening 
the  linen  dress  she  had  worn  that  afternoon.  Deep  in 
her  trunk,  along  with  much  other  unused  finery,  it  had 
reposed  all  summer.  That  ingrained  instinct  to  be  ad- 
mired, to  be  garbed  fittingly  and  well,  came  back  to  her 
as  soon  as  she  was  rested.  And  though  there  were  none 
but  squirrels  and  bluejays  and  occasionally  Katy  John 
to  cast  admiring  eyes  upon  her,  it  had  pleased  her  for 
a  week  to  wear  her  best,  and  wander  about  the  beaches 
and  among  the  dusky  trunks  of  giant  fir,  a  picture  of 
blooming,  well-groomed  womanhood.  She  took  off  the 
dress  and  threw  it  on  the  bed  with  a  resentful  rush  of 
feeling.  The  treadmill  gaped  for  her  again.  But  not 
for  long.  She  was  through  with  that.  She  was  glad 
that  Charlie's  prospects  pleased  him.  He  could  not 
call  on  her  to  help  him  out  of  a  hole  now.  She  would 
tell  him  her  decision  to-night.  And  as  soon  as  he'  could 
get  a  cook  to  fill  her  place,  then  good-by  to  Roaring 
Lake,  good-by  to  kitchen  smells  and  flies  and  sixteen 
hours  a  day  over  a  hot  stove. 

She  wondered  why  such  a  loathing  of  the  work  af- 
flicted her;  if  all  who  earned  their  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  their  brow  were  ridden  with  that  feeling, —  woods- 
men, cooks,  chauffeurs,  the  slaves  of  personal  service 
and  the  great  industrial  mills  alike?  Her  heart  went 
out  to  them  if  they  were.  But  she  was  quite  sure  that 
work  could  be  otherwise  than  repellent,  enslaving.  She 
recalled  that  cooks  and  maids  had  worked  in  her  father's 
house  with  no  sign  of  the  revolt  that  now  assailed  her. 
But  it  seemed  to  her  that  their  tasks  had  been  light 


DURANCE   VILE  93 

compared  with  the  job  of  cooking  in  Charlie  Benton's 
camp. 

Curiously  enough,  while  she  changed  her  clothes,  her 
thoughts  a  jumble  of  present  things  she  disliked  and 
the  unknown  that  she  would  have  to  face  alone  in  Van- 
couver, she  found  her  mind  turning  on  Jack  Fyfe. 
During  his  three  weeks'  stay,  they  had  progressed  less 
in  the  direction  of  acquaintances  than  she  and  Paul 
Abbey  had  done  in  two  meetings.  Fyfe  talked  to  her 
now  and  then  briefly,  but  he  looked  at  her  more  than 
he  talked.  Where  his  searching  gaze  disturbed,  his 
speech  soothed,  it  was  so  coolly  impersonal.  That,  she 
deemed,  was  merely  another  of  his  odd  contradictions. 
He  was  contradictory.  Stella  classified  Jack  Fyfe  as  a 
creature  of  unrestrained  passions.  She  recognized,  or 
thought  she  recognized,  certain  dominant,  primitive 
characteristics,  and  they  did  not  excite  her  admiration. 
Men  admired  him  —  those  who  were  not  afraid  of  him. 
If  he  had  been  of  more  polished  clay,  she  could  readily 
have  grasped  this  attitude.  But  in  her  eyes  he  was 
merely  a  rude,  masterful  man,  uncommonly  gifted  with 
physical  strength,  dominating  other  rude,  strong  men 
by  sheer  brute  force.  And  she  herself  rather  despised 
sheer  brute  force.  The  iron  hand  should  fitly  be  con- 
cealed beneath  the  velvet  glove. 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  bold  look  in  his  eyes  that  always 
confused  and  irritated  her,  Fyfe  had  never  singled  her 
out  for  the  slightest  attention  of  the  kind  any  man  be- 
stows upon  an  attractive  woman.  Stella  was  no  fool. 
She  knew  that  she  was  attractive,  and  she  knew  why. 
She  had  been  prepared  to  repulse,  and  there  had  been 


94  BIG   TIMBER 

nothing  to  repulse.  Once  during  Charlie's  absence  he 
had  come  in  a  rowboat,  hafled  her  from  the  beach,  and 
gone  away  without  disembarking  when  she  told  him 
Benton  was  not  back.  He  was  something  of  an  enigma, 
she  confessed  to  herself,  after  all.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  he  came  so  frequently  into  her  mind.  Or  perhaps, 
she  told  herself,  there  was  so  little  on  Roaring  Lake 
to  think  about  that  one  could  not  escape  the  personal 
element.  As  if  any  one  ever  could.  As  if  life  were 
made  up  of  anything  but  the  impinging  of  one  person- 
ality upon  another.  That  was  something  Miss  Stella 
Benton  had  yet  to  learn.  She  was  still  mired  in  the 
rampant  egotism  of  untried  youth,  as  yet  the  sublime 
individualist. 

That  side  of  her  suffered  a  distinct  shock  later  in 
the  evening.  When  supper  was  over,  the  work  done, 
and  the  loggers'  celebration  was  slowly  subsiding  in 
the  bunkhouse,  she  told  Charlie  with  blunt  directness 
what  she  wanted  to  do.  With  equally  blunt  directness 
he  declared  that  he  would  not  permit  it.  Stella's  teeth 
came  together  with  an  angry  little  click. 

"  I'm  of  age,  Charlie,"  she  said  to  him.  "  It  isn't 
for  you  to  say  what  you  will  or  will  not  permit  me  to  do. 
I  want  that  money  of  mine  that  you  used  —  and  what 
I've  earned.  God  knows  I  have  earned  it.  I  can't 
stand  this  work,  and  I  don't  intend  to.  It  isn't  work ; 
it's  slavery." 

"But  what  can  you  do  in  town?"  he  countered. 
"  You  haven't  the  least  idea  what  you'd  be  going  up 
against,  Stell.  You've  never  been  away  from  home,  and 
you've  never  had  the  least  training  at  anything  useful. 


DURANCE   VILE  95 

You'd  be  on  your  uppers  in  no  time  at  all.  You 
wouldn't  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance." 

"  I  have  such  a  splendid  chance  here,"  she  retorted 
ironically.  "  If  I  could  get  in  any  position  where  I'd 
be  more  likely  to  die  of  sheer  stagnation,  to  say  nothing 
of  dirty  drudgery,  than  in  this  forsaken  hole,  I'd  like 
to  know  how.  I  don't  think  it's  possible." 

"  You  could  be  a  whole  lot  worse  off,  if  you  only 
knew  it,"  Benton  returned  grumpily.  "  If  you  haven't 
got  any  sense  about  things,  I  have.  I  know  what  a 
rotten  hole  Vancouver  or  any  other  seaport  town  is 
for  a  girl  alone.  I  won't  let  you  make  any  foolish 
break  like  that.  That's  flat." 

From  this  position  she  failed  to  budge  him.  Once 
angered,  partly  by  her  expressed  intention  and  partly 
by  the  outspoken  protest  against  the  mountain  of  work 
imposed  on  her,  Charlie  refused  point-blank  to  give  hei- 
either  the  ninety  dollars  he  had  taken  out  of  her  purse 
or  the  three  months'  wages  due.  Having  made  her  re- 
quest, and  having  met  with  this  —  to  her  — amazing  re- 
fusal, Stella  sat  dumb.  There  was  too  fine  a  streak  in 
her  to  break  out  in  recrimination.  She  was  too  proud 
to  cry. 

So  that  she  went  to  bed  in  a  ferment  of  helpless  rage. 
Virtually  she  was  a  prisoner,  as  much  so  as  if  Charlie 
had  kidnaped  her  and  held  her  so  by  brute  force.  The 
economic  restraint  was  all  potent.  Without  money  she 
could  not  even  leave  the  camp.  And  when  she  con- 
templated the  daily  treadmill  before  her,  she  shuddered. 

At  least  she  could  go  on  strike.  Her  round  cheek 
flushed  with  the  bitterest  anger  she  had  ever  known,  she 


96  BIG   TIMBER 

sat  with  eyes  burning  into  the  dark  of  her  sordid  room, 
and  vowed  that  the  thirty  loggers  should  die  of  slow 
starvation  if  they  did  not  eat  until  she  cooked  another 
meal  for  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 

JACK  FYFE'S  CAMP 

She  was  still  hot  with  the  spirit  of  mutiny  when  morn- 
ing came,  but  she  cooked  breakfast.  It  was  not  in  her 
to  act  like  a  petulant  child.  Morning  also  brought  a 
different  aspect  to  things,  for  Charlie  told  her  while 
he  helped  prepare  breakfast  that  he  was  going  to  take 
his  crew  and  repay  in  labor  the  help  Jack  Fyfe  had 
given  him. 

"  While  we're  there,  Jack's  cook  will  feed  all  hands," 
said  he.  "  And  by  the  time  we're  through  there,  I'll 
have  things  fixed  so  it  won't  be  such  hard  going  for  you 
here.  Do  you  want  to  go  along  to  Jack's  camp  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  shortly.  "  I  don't.  I  would 
much  prefer  to  get  away  from  this  lake  altogether,  as 
I  told  you  last  night." 

"  You  might  as  well  forget  that  notion,"  he  said 
stubbornly.  *'  I've  got  a  little  pride  in  the  matter.  I 
don't  want  my  sister  drudging  at  the  only  kind  of  work 
she'd  be  able  to  earn  a  living  at." 

"You're  perfectly  willing  to  have  me  drudge  here," 
she  flashed  back. 

"That's  different,"  he  defended.  "And  it's  only 
temporary.  I'll  be  making  real  money  before  long. 


98  BIG   TIMBER 

You'll  get  your  share  if  you'll  have  a  little  patience  and 
put  your  shoulder  to  the  wheel.  Lord,  I'm  doing  the 
best  I  can." 

"  Yes  —  for  yourself,"  she  returned.  "  You  'don't 
seem  to  consider  that  I'm  entitled  to  as  much  fair  play 
as  you'd  have  to  accord  one  of  your  men.  I  don't  want 
you  to  hand  me  an  easy  living  on  a  silver  salver.  All 
I  want  of  you  is  what  is  mine,  and  the  privilege  of  using 
my  own  judgment.  I'm  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of 
myself." 

If  there  had  been  opportunity  to  enlarge  on  that 
theme,  they  might  have  come  to  another  verbal  clash. 
But  Benton  never  lost  sight  of  his  primary  object.  The 
getting  of  breakfast  and  putting  his  men  about  their 
work  promptly  was  of  more  importance  to  him  than 
Stella's  grievance.  So  the  incipient  storm  dwindled  to 
a  sullen  mood  on  her  part.  Breakfast  over,  Benton 
loaded  men  and  tools  aboard  a  scow  hitched  beside  the 
boat.  He  repeated  his  invitation,  and  Stella  refused, 
with  a  sarcastic  reflection  on  the  company  she  would 
be  compelled  to  keep  there. 

The  Chickamin  with  her  tow  drew  off,  and  she  was 
alone  again. 

"  Marooned  once  more,"  Stella  said  to  herself  when 
the  little  steamboat  slipped  behind  the  first  jutting 
point.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  just  be  a  man  for  a  while." 

Marooned  seemed  to  her  the  appropriate  term. 
There  were  the  two  old  Siwashes  and  their  dark-skinned 
brood.  But  they  were  little  more  to  Stella  than  the 
insentient  boulders  that  strewed  the  beach.  She  could 
not  talk  to  them  or  they  to  her.  Long  since  she  had 


JACK   FYFE'S    CAMP  99 

been  surfeited  with  Katy  John.  If  there  were  any 
primitive  virtues  in  that  dusky  maiden  they  were  well 
buried  under  the  white  man's  schooling.  Katy's  de- 
mand upon  life  was  very  simple  and  in  marked  contrast 
to  Stella  Benton's.  Plenty  of  grub,  no  work,  some 
cheap  finery,  and  a  man  white  or  red,  no  matter,  to 
make  eyes  at.  Her  horizon  was  bounded  by  Roaring 
Lake  and  the  mission  at  Skookumchuck.  She  was 
therefore  no  mitigation  of  Stella's  loneliness. 

Nevertheless  Stella  resigned  herself  to  make  the  best 
of  it,  and  it  proved  a  poor  best.  She  could  not  detach 
herself  sufficiently  from  the  sordid  realities  to  lose  her- 
self in  day-dreaming.  There  was  not  a  book  in  the 
camp  save  some  ten-cent  sensations  she  found  in  the 
bunkhouse,  and  these  she  had  exhausted  during  Charlie's 
first  absence.  The  uncommon  -  stillness  of  the  camp 
oppressed  her  more  than  ever.  Even  the  bluejays  and 
squirrels  seemed  to  sense  its  abandonment,  seemed  to 
take  her  as  part  of  the  inanimate  fixtures,  for  they 
frisked  and  chattered  about  with  uncommon  fearless- 
ness. The  lake  lay  dead  gray,  glassy  as  some  great 
irregular  window  in  the  crust  of  the  earth.  Only  at 
rare  intervals  did  sail  or  smoke  dot  its  surface,  and 
then  far  offshore.  The  woods  stood  breathless  in  the 
autumn  sun.  It  was  like  being  entombed.  And  there 
would  be  a  long  stretch  of  it,  with  only  a  recurrence  of 
that  deadly  grind  of  kitchen  work  when  the  loggers 
came  home  again. 

Some  time  during  the  next  forenoon  she  went  south- 
erly along  the  lake  shore  on  foot  without  object  or 
destination,  merely  to  satisfy  in  some  measure  the  rest- 


ioo  BIG   TIMBER 

less  craving  for  action.  Colorful  turns  of  life,  the 
more  or  less  engrossing  contact  of  various  personalities, 
some  new  thing  to  be  done,  seen,  admired,  discussed,  had 
been  a  part  of  her  existence  ever  since  she  could  re- 
member. None  of  this  touched  her  now.  A  dead 
weight  of  monotony  rode  her  hard.  There  was  the  fur- 
tive wild  life  of  the  forest,  the  light  of  sun  and  sky,  and 
the  banked  green  of  the  forest  that  masked  the  steep 
granite  slopes.  She  appreciated  beauty,  craved  it  in- 
deed, but  she  could  not  satisfy  her  being  with  scenic  ef- 
fects alone.  She  craved,  without  being  wholly  aware 
of  it,  or  altogether  admitting  it  to  herself,  some  human 
distraction  in  all  that  majestic  solitude. 

It  was  forthcoming.  When  she  returned  to  camp  at 
two  o'clock,  driven  in  by  hunger,  Jack  Fyfe  sat  on  the 
doorstep. 

"  How-de-do.  I've  come  to  bring  you  over  to  my 
place,"  he  announced  quite  casually. 

"  Thanks.  I've  already  declined  one  pressing  invi- 
tation to  that  effect,"  Stella  returned  drily.  His  mat- 
ter-of-fact assurance  rather  nettled  her. 

"  A  woman  always  has  the  privilege  of  changing  her 
mind,"  Fyfe  smiled.  "  Charlie  is  going  to  be  at  my 
camp  for  at  least  three  weeks.  It'll  rain  soon,  and  the 
days'll  be  pretty  gray  and  dreary  and  lonesome.  You 
might  as  well  pack  your  war-bag  and  come  along." 

She  stood  uncertainly.  Her  tongue  held  ready  a 
blunt  refusal,  but  she  did  not  utter  it ;  and  she  did  not 
know  why.  She  did  have  a  glimpse  of  the  futility  of  re- 
fusing, only  she  did  not  admit  that  refusal  might  be 
of  no  weight  in  the  matter.  With  her  mind  running 


JACK   FYFE'S    CAMP  101 

indignantly  against  compulsion,  nevertheless  her  muscles 
involuntarily  moved  to  obey.  It  irritated  her  further 
that  she  should  feel  in  the  least  constrained  to  obey  the 
calmly  expressed  wish  of  this  quiet-spoken  woodsman. 
Certain  possible  phases  of  a  lengthy  sojourn  in  Jack 
Fyfe's  camp  shot  across  her  mind.  He  seemed  of  un- 
canny perception,  for  he  answered  this  thought  before 
it  was  clearly  formed. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  properly  chaperoned,  and  you  won't 
have  to  mix  with  the  crew,"  he  drawled.  "  I've  got  all 
kinds  of  room.  My  boss  logger's  wife  is  up  from  town 
for  a  while.  She's  a  fine,  motherly  old  party,  and  she 
keeps  us  all  in  order." 

"  I  haven't  had  any  lunch,"  she  temporized.  "  Have 
you?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  rowed  over  here  before  twelve.  Thought  I'd  get 
you  back  to  camp  in  time  for  dinner.  You  know,"  he 
said  with  a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  "  a  logger  never 
eats  anything  but  a  meal.  A  lunch  to  us  is  a  snack 
that  you  put  in  your  pocket.  I  guess  we  lack  tone  out 
here.  We  haven't  got  past  the  breakfast-dinner-supper 
stage  yet ;  too  busy  making  the  country  fit  to  live  in." 

"  You  have  a  tremendous  j  ob  in  hand,"  she  observed. 

"  Oh,  maybe,"  he  laughed.  "  All  in  the  way  you  look 
at  it.  Suits  some  of  us.  Well,  if  we  get  to  my  camp 
before  three,  the  cook  might  feed  us.  Come  on.  You'll 
get  to  hating  yourself  if  you  stay  here  alone  till  Charlie's 
through." 

Why  not?  Thus  she  parleyed  with  herself,  one  half 
of  her  minded  to  stand  upon  her  dignity,  the  other  part 


102  BIG   TIMBER 

of  her  urging  acquiescence  in  his  wish  that  was  almost 
a  command.  She  was  tempted  to  refuse  just  to  see  what 
he  would  do,  but  she  reconsidered  that.  Without  any 
logical  foundation  for  the  feeling,  she  was  shy  of  pitting 
her  will  against  Jack  Fyfe's.  Hitherto  quite  sure  of 
herself,  schooled  in  self-possession,  it  was  a  new  and 
disturbing  experience  to  come  in  contact  with  that 
subtle,  analysis-defying  quality  which  carries  the  posses- 
sor thereof  straight  to  his  or  her  goal  over  all  opposi- 
tion, which  indeed  many  times  stifles  all  opposition. 
Force  of  character,  overmastering  personality,  emana- 
tion of  sheer  will,  she  could  not  say  in  what  terms  it 
should  be  described.  Whatever  it  was,  Jack  Fyfe  had 
it.  It  existed,  a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with  when  one 
dealt  with  him.  For  within  twenty  minutes  she  had 
packed  a  suitcase  full  of  clothes  and  was  embarked  in 
his  rowboat. 

He  sent  the  lightly  built  craft  easily  through  the 
water  with  regular,  effortless  strokes.  Stella  sat  in 
the  stern,  facing  him.  Out  past  the  north  horn  of  the 
bay,  she  broke  the  silence  that  had  fallen  between  them. 

"  Why  did  you  make  a  point  of  coming  for  me?  "  she 
asked  bluntly. 

Fyfe  rested  on  his  oars  a  moment,  looking  at  her  in 
his  direct,  unembarrassed  way. 

"  I  wintered  once  on  the  Stickine,"  he  said.  "  My 
partner  pulled  out  before  Christmas  and  never  came 
back.  It  was  the  first  time  I'd  ever  been  alone  in  my 
life.  I  wasn't  a  much  older  hand  in  the  country  than 
you  are.  Four  months  without  hearing  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice.  Stark  alone.  I  got  so  I  talked  to  my- 


JACK   FYFE'S    CAMP  103 

self  out  loud  before  spring.  So  I  thought  —  well,  I 
thought  I'd  come  and  bring  you  over  to  see  Mrs. 
Howe." 

Stella  sat  gazing  at  the  slow  moving  panorama  of  the 
lake  shore,  her  chin  in  her  hand. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  at  last,  and  very  gently. 

Fyfe  looked  at  her  a  minute  or  more,  a  queer,  half- 
amused  expression  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally,  "I  might  as  well  teU  the 
whole  truth.  I've  been  thinking  about  you  quite  a  lot 
lately,  Miss  Stella  Benton,  or  I  wouldn't  have  thought 
about  you  getting  lonesome." 

He  smiled  ever  so  faintly,  a  mere  movement  of  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  at  the  pink  flush  which  rose 
quickly  in  her  cheeks,  and  then  resumed  his  steady  pull 
at  the  oars. 

Except  for  a  greater  number  of  board  shacks  and  a 
larger  area  of  stump  and  top-littered  waste  immedi- 
ately behind  it,  Fyfe's  headquarters,  outwardly,  at 
least,  differed  little  from  her  brother's  camp.  Jack 
led  her  to  a  long,  log  structure  with  a  shingle  roof,  which 
from  its  more  substantial  appearance  she  judged  to  be 
his  personal  domicile.  A  plump,  smiling  woman  of  forty 
greeted  her  on  the  threshold.  Once  within,  Stella  per- 
ceived that  there  was  in  fact  considerable  difference  in 
Mr.  Fyfe's  habitation.  There  was  a  great  stone  fire- 
place, before  which  big  easy-chairs  invited  restful  loung- 
ing. The  floor  was  overlaid  with  thick  rugs  which 
deadened  her  footfalls.  With  no  pretense  of  orna- 
mental decoration,  the  room  held  an  air  of  homely  com- 
fort. 


104  BIG    TIMBER 

"  Come  in  here  and  lay  off  your  things,"  Mrs.  Howe 
heamed  on  her.  "  If  I'd  'a'  known  you  were  livin'  so 
close,  we'd  have  been  acquainted  a  week  ago ;  though 
I  ain't  got  rightly  settled  here  myself.  My  land,  these 
men  are  such  clams.  I  never  knowed  till  this  mornin* 
there  was  any  white  woman  at  this  end  of  the  lake  be- 
sides myself." 

She  showed  Stella  into  a  bedroom.  It  boasted  an 
enamel  washstand  with  taps  which  yielded  hot  and  cold 
water,  neatly  curtained  windows,  and  a  deep-seated 
Morris  chair.  Certainly  Fyfe's  household  accommoda- 
tion was  far  superior  to  Charlie  Benton's.  Stella  ex- 
pected the  man's  home  to  be  rough  and  ready  like  him- 
self, and  in  a  measure  it  was,  but  a  comfortable  sort  of 
rough  and  readiness.  She  took  off  her  hat  and  had  a 
critical  survey  of  herself  in  a  mirror,  after  which  she 
had  just  time  to  brush  her  hair  before  answering  Mrs. 
Howe's  call  to  a  "  cup  of  tea." 

The  cup  of  tea  resolved  itself  into  a  well-cooked  and 
well-served  meal,  with  china  and  linen  and  other  un- 
expected table  accessories  which  agreeably  surprised 
her.  Inevitably  she  made  comparisons,  somewhat  tinc- 
tured with  natural  envy.  If  Charlie  would  fix  his  place 
with  a  few  such  household  luxuries,  life  in  their  camp 
would  be  more  nearly  bearable,  despite  the  long  hours 
of  disagreeable  work.  As  it  was  —  well,  the  unrelieved 
discomforts  were  beginning  to  warp  her  out-look  on 
everything. 

Fyfe  maintained  his  habitual  sparsity  of  words  while 
they  ate  the  food  Mrs.  Howe  brought  on  a  tray  hot  from 
the  cook's  outlying  domain.  When  they  finished,  he 


JACK   FYFE'S    CAMP  105 

rose,  took  up  his  hat  and  helped  himself  to  a  handful  of 
cigars  from  a  box  on  the  fireplace  mantel. 

"  I  guess  you'll  be  able  to  put  in  the  time,  all  right," 
he  remarked.  "  Make  yourself  at  home.  If  you  take  a 
notion  to  read,  there's  a  lot  of  books  and  magazines  in 
my  room.  Mrs.  Howe'll  show  you." 

He  walked  out.  Stella  was  conscious  of  a  distinct 
relief  when  he  was  gone.  She  had  somehow  experienced 
a  recurrence  of  that  peculiar  feeling  of  needing  to  be  on 
her  guard,  as  if  there  were  some  curious,  latent  antago- 
nism between  them.  She  puzzled  over  that  a  little.  She 
had  never  felt  that  way  about  Paul  Abbey,  for  instance, 
or  indeed  toward  any  man  she  had  ever  known.  Fyfe's 
more  or  less  ambiguous  remark  in  the  boat  had  helped 
to  arouse  it  again.  His  manner  of  saying  that  he  had 
"  thought  a  lot  about  her "  conveyed  more  than  the 
mere  words.  She  could  quite  conceive  of  the  Jack  Fyfe 
type  carrying  things  with  a  high  hand  where  a  woman 
was  concerned.  He  had  that  reputation  in  all  his  other 
dealings.  He  was  aggressive.  He  could  drink  any  log- 
ger in  the  big  firs  off  his  feet.  He  had  an  uncanny  luck 
at  cards.  Somehow  or  other  in  every  undertaking  Jack 
Fyfe  always  came  out  on  top,  so  the  tale  ran.  There 
must  be,  she  reasoned,  a  wide  streak  of  the  brute  in 
such  a  man.  It  was  no  gratification  to  her  vanity  to 
have  him  admire  her.  It  did  not  dawn  upon  her  that  so 
far  she  had  never  got  over  being  a  little  afraid  of  him, 
much  less  to  ask  herself  why  she  should  be  afraid  of 
him. 

But  she  did  not  spend  much  time  puzzling  over  Jack 
Fyfe.  Once  out  of  her  sight  she  forgot  him.  It  was 


io6  BIG   TIMBER 

balm  to  her  lonely  soul  to  have  some  one  of  her  own  sex 
for  company.  What  Mrs.  Howe  lacked  in  the  higher 
culture  she  made  up  in  homely  perception  and  unassum- 
ing kindliness.  Her  husband  was  Fyfe's  foreman.  She 
herself  was  not  a  permanent  fixture  in  the  camp.  They 
had  a  cottage  at  Roaring  Springs,  where  she  spent  most 
of  the  time,  so  that  their  three  children  could  be  in 
school. 

"  I  was  up  here  all  through  vacation,"  she  told  Stella. 
"  But  Lefty  he  got  to  howlin'  about  bein'  left  alone 
shortly  after  school  started  again,  so  I  got  my  sister  to 
look  after  the  kids  for  a  spell,  while  I  stay.  I'll  be  goin' 
down  about  the  time  Mr.  Benton's  through  here." 

Stella  eventually  went  out  to  take  a  look  around  the 
camp.  A  hard-beaten  path  led  off  toward  where  rose 
the  distant  sounds  of  logging  work,  the  ponderous  crash 
of  trees,  and  the  puff  of  the  donkeys.  She  followed 
that  a  little  way  and  presently  came  to  a  knoll  some 
three  hundred  yards  above  the  beach.  There  she  paused 
to  look  and  wonder  curiously. 

For  the  crest  of  this  little  hillock  had  been  cleared  and 
graded  level  and  planted  to  grass  over  an  area  four 
hundred  feet  square.  It  was  trimmed  like  a  lawn,  and 
in  the  center  of  this  vivid  green  block  stood  an  un- 
finished house  foundation  of  gray  stone.  No  stick  of 
timber,  no  board  or  any  material  for  further  building 
lay  in  sight.  The  thing  stood  as  if  that  were  to  be  all. 
And  it  was  not  a  new  undertaking  temporarily  delayed. 
There  was  moss  creeping  over  the  thick  stone  wall,  she 
discovered,  when  she  walked  over  it.  Whoever  had  laid 
that  foundation  had  done  it  many  a  moon  before.  Yet 


JACK   FYFE'S    CAMP  107 

the  sward  about  was  kept  as  if  a  gardener  had  it  in 
charge. 

A  noble  stretch  of  lake  and  mountain  spread  out  be- 
fore her  gaze.  Straight  across  the  lake  two  deep  clefts 
in  the  eastern  range  opened  on  the  water,  five  miles 
apart.  She  could  see  the  white  ribbon  of  foaming  cas- 
cades in  each.  Between  lifted  a  great  mountain,  and  on 
the  lakeward  slope  of  this  stood  a  terrible  scar  of  a  slide, 
yellow  and  brown,  rising  two  thousand  feet  from  the 
shore.  A  vaporous  wisp  of  cloud  hung  along  the  top 
of  the  slide,  and  above  this  aerial  banner  a  snow-capped 
pinnacle  thrust  itself  high  into  the  infinite  blue. 

"  What  an  outlook,"  she  said,  barely  conscious  that 
she  spoke  aloud.  "  Why  do  these  people  build  their 
houses  in  the  bush,  when  they  could  live  in  the  open  and 
have  something  like  this  to  look  at.  They  would,  if  they 
had  any  sense  of  beauty." 

"  Sure  they  haven't  ?  Some  of  them  might  have,  you 
know,  without  being  able  to  gratify  it." 

She  started,  to  find  Jack  Fyfe  almost  at  her  elbow, 
the  gleam  of  a  quizzical  smile  lighting  his  face. 

"  I  daresay  that  might  be  true,"  she  admitted. 

Fyfe's  gaze  turned  from  her  to  the  huge  sweep  of  lake 
and  mountain  chain.  She  saw  that  he  was  outfitted  for 
fishing,  creel  on  his  shoulder,  unjointed  rod  in  one  hand. 
By  means  of  his  rubber-soled  waders  he  had  come  upon 
her  noiselessly. 

"  It's  truer  than  you  think,  maybe,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  You  don't  want  to  come  along  and  take  a  lesson  in 
catching  rainbows,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Not  this  time,  thanks,"  she  shook  her  head. 


io8  BIG   TIMBER 

"  I  want  to  get  enough  for  supper,  so  I'd  better  be  at 
it,"  he  remarked.  "  Sometimes  they  come  pretty  slow. 
If  you  should  want  to  go  up  and  watch  the  boys  work, 
that  trail  will  take  you  there." 

He  went  off  across  the  grassy  level  and  plunged  into 
the  deep  timber  that  rose  like  a  wall  beyond.  Stella 
looked  after. 

"  It  is  certainly  odd,"  she  reflected  with  some  irri- 
tation, "  how  that  man  affects  me.  I  don't  think  a 
woman  could  ever  be  j  ust  friends  with  him.  She'd  either 
like  him  a  lot  or  dislike  him  intensely.  He  isn't  any- 
thing but  a  logger,  and  yet  he  has  a  presence  like  one 
of  the  lords  of  creation.  Funny." 

Then  she  went  back  to  the  house  to  converse  upon 
domestic  matters  with  Mrs.  Howe  until  the  shrilling  of 
the  donkey  whistle  brought  forty-odd  lumberjacks 
swinging  down  the  trail. 

Behind  them  a  little  way  came  Jack  Fyfe  with  sag- 
ging creel.  He  did  not  stop  to  exhibit  his  catch,  but 
half  an  hour  later  they  were  served  hot  and  crisp  at  the 
table  in  the  big  living  room,  where  Fyfe,  Stella  and 
Charlie  Benton,  Lefty  Howe  and  his  wife,  sat  down  to- 
gether. 

A  flunkey  from  the  camp  kitchen  served  the  meal  and 
cleared  it  away.  For  an  hour  or  two  after  that  the 
three  men  sat  about  in  shirt-sleeved  ease,  puffing  at  Jack 
Fyfe's  cigars.  Then  Benton  excused  himself  and  went 
to  bed.  When  Howe  and  his  wife  retired,  Stella  did 
likewise.  The  long  twilight  had  dwindled  to  a  misty 
patch  of  light  sky  in  the  northwest,  and  she  fell  asleep 
more  at  ease  than  she  had  been  for  weeks.  Sitting  in 


JACK   FYFE'S   CAMP  109 

Jack  Fyfe's  living  room  through  that  evening  she  had 
begun  to  formulate  a  philosophy  to  fit  her  enforced 
environment  —  to  live  for  the  day  only,  and  avoid 
thought  of  the  future  until  there  loomed  on  the  horizon 
some  prospect  of  a  future  worth  thinking  about.  The 
present  looked  passable  enough,  she  thought,  if  she  kept 
her  mind  strictly  on  it  alone. 

And  with  that  idea  to  guide  her,  she  found  the  days 
slide  by  smoothly.  She  got  on  famously  with  Mrs. 
Howe,  finding  that  woman  full  of  virtues  unsuspected  in 
her  type.  Charlie  was  in  his  element.  His  prospects 
looked  so  rosy  that  they  led  him  into  egotistic  outlines 
of  what  he  intended  to  accomplish.  To  him  the  future 
meant  logs  in  the  water,  big  holdings  of  timber,  a  grow- 
ing bank  account.  Beyond  that, —  what  all  his  concen- 
trated effort  should  lead  to  save  more  logs  and  more 
timber, —  he  did  not  seem  to  go.  Judged  by  his  talk, 
that  was  the  ultimate,  economic  power, —  money  and 
more  money.  More  and  more  as  Stella  listened  to  him, 
she  became  aware  that  he  was  following  in  his  father's 
footsteps ;  save  that  he  aimed  at  greater  heights  and 
that  he  worked  by  different  methods,  juggling  with 
natural  resources  where  their  father  had  merely  juggled 
with  prices  and  tokens  of  product,  their  end  was  the 
same  —  not  to  create  or  build  up,  but  to  grasp,  to 
acquire.  That  was  the  game.  To  get  and  to  hold  for 
their  own  use  and  benefit  and  to  look  upon  men  and 
things,  in  so  far  as  they  were  of  use,  as  pawns  in  the 
game. 

She  wondered  sometimes  if  that  were  a  characteristic 
of  all  men,  if  that  were  the  big  motif  in  the  lives  of  such 


no  BIG   TIMBER 

men  as  Paul  Abbey  and  Jack  Fyfe,  for  instance;  if 
everything  else,  save  the  struggle  of  getting  and  keep- 
ing money,  resolved  itself  into  purely  incidental  phases 
of  their  existence?  For  herself  she  considered  that 
wealth,  or  the  getting  of  wealth,  was  only  a  means  to  an 
end. 

Just  what  that  end  might.be  she  found  a  little  vague, 
rather  hard  to  define  in  exact  terms.  It  embraced  per- 
sonal leisure  and  the  good  things  of  life  as  a  matter  of 
course,  a  broader  existence,  a  large-handed  generosity 
toward  the  less  fortunate,  an  intellectual  elevation  en- 
tirely unrelated  to  gross  material  things.  Life,  she  told 
herself  pensively,  ought  to  mean  something  more  than 
ease  and  good  clothes,  but  what  more  she  was  chary  of 
putting  into  concrete  form.  It  hadn't  meant  much 
more  than  that  for  her,  so  far.  She  was  only  begin- 
ning to  recognize  the  flinty  facts  of  existence.  She  saw 
now  that  for  her  there  lay  open  only  two  paths  to  food 
and  clothing:  one  in  which,  lacking  all  training,  she 
must  earn  her  bread  by  daily  toil,  the  other  leading 
to  marriage.  That,  she  would  have  admitted,  was  a 
woman's  natural  destiny,  but  one  didn't  pick  a  husband 
or  lover  as  one  chose  a  gown  or  a  hat.  One  went  along 
living,  and  the  thing  happened.  Chance  ruled  there,  she 
believed.  The  morality  of  her  class  prevented  her  from 
prying  into  this  question  of  mating  with  anything  like 
critical  consideration.  It  was  only  to  be  thought  about 
sentimentally,  and  it  was  easy  for  her  to  so  think. 
Within  her  sound  and  vigorous  body  all  the  heritage  of 
natural  human  impulses  bubbled  warmly,  but  she  recog- 
nized neither  their  source  nor  their  ultimate  fruits. 


JACK    FYFE'S    CAMP  in 

Often  when  Charlie  was  holding  forth  in  his  accus- 
tomed vein,  she  wondered  what  Jack  Fyfe  thought  about 
it,  what  he  masked  behind  his  brief  sentences  or  slow 
smile.  Latterly  her  feeling  about  him,  that  involuntary 
bracing  and  stiffening  of  herself  against  his  personality, 
left  her.  Fyfe  seemed  to  be  more  or  less  self-conscious 
of  her  presence  as  a  guest  in  his  house.  His  manner 
toward  her  remained  always  casual,  as  if  she  were  a  man, 
and  there  was  no  question  of  sex  attraction  or  mascu- 
line reaction  to  it  between  them.  She  liked  him  better 
for  that ;  and  she  did  admire  his  wonderful  strength,  the 
tremendous  power  invested  in  his  magnificent  body,  just 
as  she  would  have  admired  a  tiger,  without  caring  to 
fondle  the  beast. 

Altogether  she  spent  a  tolerably  pleasant  three  weeks. 
Autumn's  gorgeous  paintbrush  laid  wonderful  coloring 
upon  the  maple  and  alder  and  birch  that  lined  the  lake 
shore.  The  fall  run  of  the  salmon  was  on,  and  every 
stream  was  packed  with  the  silver  horde,  threshing 
through  shoal  and  rapid  to  reach  the  spawning  ground 
before  they  died.  Off  every  creek  mouth  and  all  along 
the  lake  the  seal  followed  to  prey  on  the  salmon,  and 
sea-trout  and  lakers  alike  swarmed  to  the  spawning  beds 
to  feed  upon  the  roe.  The  days  shortened.  Sometimes 
a  fine  rain  would  drizzle  for  hours  on  end,  and  when  it 
would  clear,  the  saw-toothed  ranges  flanking  the  lake 
would  stand  out  all  freshly  robed  in  white, —  a  mantle 
that  crept  lower  on  the  fir-clad  slopes  after  each  storm. 
The  winds  that  whistled  off  those  heights  nipped 
sharply. 

Early   in  October  Charlie   Benton  had  squared  his 


H2  BIG    TIMBER 

neighborly  account  with  Jack  Fyfe.  With  crew  and 
equipment  he  moved  home,  to  begin  work  anew  on  his 
own  limit. 

Katy  John  and  her  people  came  back  from  the  salmon 
fishing.  Jim  Renfrew,  still  walking  with  a  pronounced 
limp,  returned  from  the  hospital.  Charlie  wheedled 
Stella  into  taking  up  the  cookhouse  burden  again. 
Stella  consented;  in  truth  she  could  do  nothing  else. 
Charlie  spent  a  little  of  his  contract  profits  in  piping 
water  to  the  kitchen,  in  a  few  things  to  brighten  up  and 
make  more  comfortable  their  own  quarters. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  put  another  boom  over  the 
rapids,  Stell,"  he  promised,  "  I'll  put  a  cook  on  the  job. 
I've  got  to  sail  a  little  close  for  a  while.  With  this  crew 
I  ought  to  put  a  million  feet  in  the  water  in  six  weeks. 
Then  I'll  be  over  the  hump,  and  you  can  take  it  easy. 
But  till  then  — " 

"  Till  then  I  may  as  well  make  myself  useful,"  Stella 
interrupted  caustically. 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  Benton  demanded  impatiently. 
"  Nobody  around  here  works  any  harder  than  I  do." 

And  there  the  matter  rested. 


CHAPTER  X 

ONE    WAY    OUT 

That  was  a  winter  of  big  snow.  November  opened 
with  rain.  Day  after  day  the  sun  hid  his  face  behind 
massed,  spitting  clouds.  Morning,  noon,  and  night  the 
eaves  of  the  shacks  dripped  steadily,  the  gaunt  limbs  of 
the  hardwoods  were  a  line  of  coursing  drops,  and 
through  all  the  vast  reaches  of  fir  and  cedar  the  patter 
of  rain  kept  up  a  dreary  monotone.  Whenever  the  mist 
that  blew  like  rolling  smoke  along  the  mountains  lifted 
for  a  brief  hour,  there,  creeping  steadily  downward,  lay 
the  banked  white. 

Rain  or  shine,  the  work  drove  on.  From  the  peep  of 
day  till  dusk  shrouded  the  woods,  Benton's  donkey 
puffed  and  groaned,  axes  thudded,  the  thin,  twanging 
whine  of  the  saws  rose.  Log  after  log  slid  down  the 
chute  to  float  behind  the  boom  sticks ;  and  at  night  the 
loggers  trooped  home,  soaked  to  the  skin,  to  hang  their 
steaming  mackinaws  around  the  bunkhouse  stove. 
When  they  gathered  in  the  mess-room  they  filled  it  with 
the  odor  of  sweaty  bodies  and  profane  grumbling  about 
the  weather. 

Early  in  December  Benton  sent  out  a  big  boom  of 
logs  with  a  hired  stern-wheeler  that  was  no  more  than 
out  of  Roaring  Lake  before  the  snow  came.  The  sleety 


n4  BIG   TIMBER 

blasts  of  a  cold  afternoon  turned  to  great,  moist  flakes 
by  dark,  eddying  thick  out  of  a  windless  night.  At 
daybreak  it  lay  a  foot  deep  and  snowing  hard.  Thence- 
forth there  was  no  surcease.  The  white,  feathery  stuff 
piled  up  and  piled  up,  hour  upon  hour  and  day  after 
day,  as  if  the  deluge  had  come  again.  It  stood  at  the 
cabin  eaves  before  the  break  came,  six  feet  on  the  level. 
With  the  end  of  the  storm  came  a  bright,  cold  sky  and 
frost, —  not  the  bitter  frost  of  the  high  latitudes,  but  a 
nipping  cold  that  held  off  the  melting  rains  and  laid  a 
thin  scum  of  ice  on  every  patch  of  still  water. 

Necessarily,  all  work  ceased.  The  donkey  was  a 
shapeless  mound  of  white,  all  the  lines  and  gear  buried 
deep.  A  man  could  neither  walk  on  that  yielding  mass 
nor  wallow  through  it.  The  logging  crew  hailed  the  en- 
forced rest  with  open  relief.  Benton  grumbled.  And 
then,  with  the  hours  hanging  heavy  on  his  hands,  he  be- 
gan to  spend  more  and  more  of  his  time  in  the  bunk- 
house  with  the  "  boys,"  particularly  in  the  long  even- 
ings. 

Stella  wondered  what  pleasure  he  found  in  their  com- 
pany, but  she  never  asked  him,  nor  did  she  devote  very 
much  thought  to  the  matter.  There  was  but  small  ces- 
sation in  her  labors,  and  that  only  because  six  or  eight 
of  the  men  drew  their  pay  and  went  out.  Benton  man- 
aged to  hold  the  others  against  the  thaw  that  might  open 
up  the  woods  in  twenty-four  hours,  but  the  smaller  size 
of  the  gang  only  helped  a  little,  and  did  not  assist  her 
mentally  at  all.  All  the  old  resentment  against  the 
indignity  of  her  position  rose  and  smoldered.  To  her 
the  days  were  full  enough  of  things  that  she  was  terribly 


ONE   WAY    OUT  115 

weary  of  doing  over  and  over,  endlessly.  She  was  al- 
ways tired.  No  matter  that  she  did,  in  a  measure, 
harden  to  her  work,  grow  callously  accustomed  to  rising 
early  and  working  late.  Always  her  feet  were  sore  at 
night,  aching  intolerably.  Hot  food,  sharp  knives,  and 
a  glowing  stove  played  havoc  with  her  hands.  Always 
she  rose  in  the  morning  heavy-eyed  and  stiff-muscled. 
Youth  and  natural  vigor  alone  kept  her  from  breaking 
down,  and  to  cap  the  strain  of  toil,  she  was  soul-sick 
with  the  isolation.  For  she  was  isolated ;  there  was  not 
a  human  being  in  the  camp,  Katy  John  included,  with 
whom  she  exchanged  two  dozen  words  a  day. 

Before  the  snow  put  a  stop  to  logging,  Jack  Fyfe 
dropped  in  once  a  week  or  so.  When  work  shut  down, 
he  came  oftener,  but  he  never  singled  Stella  out  for  any 
particular  attention.  Once  he  surprised  her  sitting 
with  her  elbows  on  the  kitchen  table,  her  face  buried  in 
her  palms.  She  looked  up  at  his  quiet  entrance,  and  her 
face  must  have  given  him  his  cue.  He  leaned  a  little 
toward  her. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  you  can  stand  it?  "  he  asked 
gently. 

"  God  knows,"  she  answered,  surprised  into  speaking 
the  thought  that  lay  uppermost  in  her  mind,  surprised 
beyond  measure  that  he  should  read  that  thought. 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her  for  a  second  or  two. 
His  lips  parted,  but  he  closed  them  again  over  whatever 
rose  to  his  tongue  and  passed  silently  through  the  din- 
ing room  and  into  the  bunkhouse,  where  Benton  had 
preceded  him  a  matter  of  ten  minutes. 

It  lacked  a  week  of  Christmas.     That  day  three  of 


u6  BIG   TIMBER 

Benton's  men  had  gone  in  the  ChicJcamin  to  Roaring 
Springs  for  supplies.  They  had  returned  in  mid-after- 
noon, and  Stella  guessed  by  the  new  note  of  hilarity  in 
the  bunkhouse  that  part  of  the  supplies  had  been  liquid. 
This  had  happened  more  than  once  since  the  big  snow 
closed  in.  She  remembered  Charlie's  fury  at  the  logger 
who  started  Matt  the  cook  on  his  spree,  and  she  won- 
dered at  this  relaxation,  but  it  was  not  in  her  province, 
and  she  made  no  comment. 

Jack  Fyfe  stayed  to  supper  that  evening.  Neither 
he  nor  Charlie  came  back  to  Benton's  quarters  when  the 
meal  was  finished.  While  she  stacked  up  the  dishes, 
Katy  John  observed : 

"  Goodness  sakes,  Miss  Benton,  them  fellers  was  fresh 
at  supper.  They  was  half-drunk,  some  of  them.  I 
bet  they'll  be  half  a  dozen  fights  before  mornin'." 

Stella  passed  that  over  in  silence,  with  a  mental  turn- 
ing up  of  her  nose.  It  was  something  she  could  neither 
defend  nor  excuse.  It  was  a  disgusting  state  of  affairs, 
but  nothing  she  could  change.  She  kept  harking  back 
to  it,  though,  when  she  was  in  her  own  quarters,  and 
Katy  John  had  vanished  for  the  night  into  her  little 
room  off  the  kitchen.  Tired  as  she  was,  she  remained 
wakeful,  uneasy.  Over  in  the  bunkhouse  disturbing 
sounds  welled  now  and  then  into  the  cold,  still  night, — 
incoherent  snatches  of  song,  voices  uproariously  raised, 
bursts  of  laughter.  Once,  as  she  looked  out  the  door, 
thinking  she  heard  footsteps  crunching  hi  the  snow, 
some  one  rapped  out  a  coarse  oath  that  drove  her  back 
with  burning  face. 

As  the  evening  wore  late,  she  began  to  grow  un- 


ONE   WAY    OUT  117 

easily  curious  to  know  in  what  manner  Charlie  and  Jack 
Fyfe  were  lending  countenance  to  this  minor  riot,  if 
they  were  even  participating  in  it.  Eleven  o'clock 
passed,  and  still  there  rose  in  the  bunkhouse  that  un- 
abated hum  of  voices. 

Suddenly  there  rose  a  brief  clamor.  In  the  dead 
silence  that  followed,  she  heard  a  thud  and  the  clinking 
smash  of  breaking  glass,  a  panted  oath,  sounds  of 
struggle. 

Stella  slipped  on  a  pair  of  her  brother's  gum  boots 
and  an  overcoat,  and  ran  out  on  the  path  beaten  from 
their  cabin  to  the  shore.  It  led  past  the  bunkhouse,  and 
on  that  side  opened  two  uncurtained  windows,  yellow 
squares  that  struck  gleaming  on  the  snow.  The  panes 
of  one  were  broken  now,  sharp  fragments  standing  like 
saw  teeth  in  the  wooden  sash. 

She  stole  warily  near  and  looked  in.  Two  men  were 
being  held  apart ;  one  by  three  of  his  fellows,  the  other 
by  Jack  Fyfe  alone.  Fyfe  grinned  mildly,  talking  to 
the  men  in  a  quiet,  pacific  tone. 

"  Now  you  know  that  was  nothing  to  scrap  about," 
she  heard  him  say.  "  You're  both  full  of  fighting 
whisky,  but  a  bunkhouse  isn't  any  place  to  fight.  Wait 
till  morning.  If  you've  still  got  it  in  your  systems,  go 
outside  and  have  it  out.  But  you  shouldn't  disturb 
our  game  and  break  up  the  furniture.  Be  gentlemen, 
drunk  or  sober.  Better  shake  hands  and  call  it  square." 

"  Aw,  let  'em  go  to  it,  if  they  want  to." 

Charlie's  voice,  drink-thickened,  harsh,  came  from  a 
corner  of  the  room  into  which  she  could  not  see  until  she 
moved  nearer.  By  the  time  she  picked  him  out,  Fyfe 


n8  BIG   TIMBER 

resumed  his  seat  at  the  table  where  three  others  and 
Benton  waited  with  cards  in  their  hands,  red  and  white 
chips  and  money  stacked  before  them. 

She  knew  enough  of  cards  to  realize  that  a  stiff  poker 
game  was  on  the  board  when  she  had  watched  one  hand 
dealt  and  played.  It  angered  her,  not  from  any  ethical 
motive,  but  because  of  her  brother's  part  in  it.  He 
had  no  funds  to  pay  a  cook's  wages,  yet  he  could  af- 
ford to  lose  on  one  hand  as  much  as  he  credited  her  with 
for  a  month's  work.  She  could  slave  at  the  kitchen 
job  day  in  and  day  out  to  save  him  forty-five  dollars  a 
month.  He  could  lose  that  without  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash,  but  he  couldn't  pay  her  wages  on  demand. 
Also  she  saw  that  he  had  imbibed  too  freely,  if  the  red- 
ness of  his  face  and  the  glassy  fixedness  of  his  eyes  could 
be  read  aright. 

"  Pig !  "  she  muttered.  "  If  that's  his  idea  of  pleas- 
ure. Oh,  well,  why  should  I  care?  I  don't,  so  far  as 
he's  concerned,  if  I  could  just  get  away  from  this  beast 
of  a  place  myself." 

Abreast  of  her  a  logger  came  to  the  broken  window 
with  a  sack  to  bar  out  the  frosty  air.  And  Stella, 
realizing  suddenly  that  she  was  shivering  with  the  cold, 
ran  back  to  the  cabin  and  got  into  her  bed. 

But  she  did  not  sleep,  save  in  uneasy  periods  of  doz- 
ing, until  midnight  was  long  past.  Then  Fyfe  and  her 
brother  came  in,  and  by  the  sounds  she  gathered  that 
Fyfe  was  putting  Charlie  to  bed.  She  heard  his  deep, 
drawly  voice  urging  the  unwisdom  of  sleeping  with 
calked  boots  on,  and  Benton's  hiccupy  response.  The 
rest  of  the  night  she  slept  fitfully,  morbidly  imagining 


ONE   WAY    OUT  119 

terrible  things.  She  was  afraid,  that  was  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it.  Over  in  the  bunkhouse  the  carousal 
was  still  at  its  height.  She  could  not  rid  herself  of  the 
sight  of  those  two  men  struggling  to  be  at  each  other 
like  wild  beasts,  the  bloody  face  of  the  one  who  had  been 
struck,  the  coarse  animalism  of  the  whole  whisky-satu- 
rated gang.  It  repelled  and  disgusted  and  frightened 
her. 

The  night  frosts  had  crept  through  the  single  board 
walls  of  Stella's  room  and  made  its  temperature  akin  to 
outdoors  when  the  alarm  wakened  her  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing. She  shivered  as  she  dressed.  Katy  John  was 
blissfully  devoid  of  any  responsibility,  for  seldom  did 
Katy  rise  first  to  light  the  kitchen  fire.  Yet  Stella  re- 
sented less  each  day's  bleak  beginning  than  she  did  the 
enforced  necessity  of  the  situation;  the  fact  that  she 
was  enduring  these  things  practically  under  compulsion 
was  what  galled. 

A  cutting  wind  struck  her  icily  as  she  crossed  the  few 
steps  of  open  between  cabin  and  kitchen.  Above  no 
cloud  floated,  no  harbinger  of  melting  rain.  The  cold 
stars  twinkled  over  snow-blurred  forest,  struck  tiny 
gleams  from  stumps  that  were  now  white-capped  pillars. 
A  night  swell  from  the  outside  waters  beat  its  melan- 
choly dirge  on  the  frozen  beach.  And,  as  she  always 
did  at  that  hushed  hour  before  dawn,  she  experienced  a 
physical  shrinking  from  those  grim  solitudes  in  which 
there  was  nothing  warm  and  human  and  kindly,  nothing 
but  vastness  of  space  upon  which  silence  lay  like  a 
smothering  blanket,  in  which  she,  the  human  atom,  was 
utterly  negligible,  a  protesting  mote  in  the  inexorable 


120  BIG   TIMBER 

wilderness.  She  knew  this  to  be  merely  a  state  of  mind, 
but  situated  as  she  was,  it  bore  upon  her  with  all  the 
force  of  reality.  She  felt  like  a  prisoner  who  above  all 
things  desired  some  mode  of  escape. 

A  light  burned  in  the  kitchen.  She  thanked  her 
stars  that  this  bitter  cold  morning  she  would  not  have 
to  build  a  fire  with  freezing  fingers  while  her  teeth  chat- 
tered, and  she  hurried  in  to  the  warmth  heralded  by  a 
spark-belching  stovepipe.  But  the  Siwash  girl  had  not 
risen  to  the  occasion.  Instead,  Jack  Fyfe  sat  with  his 
feet  on  the  oven  door,  a  cigar  in  one  corner  of  his 
mouth.  The  kettle  steamed.  Her  porridge  pot 
bubbled  ready  for  the  meal. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  greeted.  "  Mind  my  pre- 
empting your  job?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered.  "  You  can  have  it  for 
keeps  if  you  want." 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  smiled.  "  I'm  sour  on  my  own 
cooking.  Had  to  eat  too  much  of  it  in  times  gone  by. 
I  wouldn't  be  stoking  up  here  either,  only  I  got  frozen 
out.  Charlie's  spare  bed  hasn't  enough  blankets  for  me 
these  cold  nights." 

He  drew  his  chair  aside  to  be  out  of  the  way  as  she 
hurried  about  her  breakfast  preparations.  All  the  time 
she  was  conscious  that  his  eyes  were  on  her,  and  also 
that  in  them  lurked  an  expression  of  keen  interest.  His 
freckled  mask  of  a  face  gave  no  clue  to  his  thoughts ;  it 
never  did,  so  far  as  she  had  ever  observed.  Fyfe  had 
a  gambler's  immobility  of  countenance.  He  chucked 
the  butt  of  his  cigar  in  the  stove  and  sat  with  hands 
clasped  over  one  knee  for  some  time  after  Katy  John 


ONE   WAY    OUT  121 

appeared  and  began  setting  the  dining  room  table  with 
a  great  clatter  of  dishes. 

He  arose  to  his  feet  then.  Stella  stood  beside  the 
stove,  frying  bacon.  A  logger  opened  the  door  and 
walked  in.  He  had  been  one  to  fare  ill  in  the  night's 
hilarity,  for  a  discolored  patch  encircled  one  eye,  and 
his  lips  were  split  and  badly  swollen.  He  carried  a  tin 
basin. 

"  Kin  I  get  some  hot  water?  "  he  asked. 

Stella  silently  indicated  the  reservoir  at  one  end  of 
the  range.  The  man  ladled  his  basin  full.  The  fumes 
of  whisky,  the  unpleasant  odor  of  his  breath  offended 
her,  and  she  drew  back.  Fyfe  looked  at  her  as  the  man 
went  out. 

"What?  "he  asked. 

She  had  muttered  something,  an  impatient  exclama- 
tion of  disgust.  The  man's  appearance  disagreeably 
reminded  her  of  the  scene  she  had  observed  through  the 
bunkhouse  window.  It  stung  her  to  think  that  her 
brother  was  fast  putting  himself  on  a  par  with  them  — 
without  their  valid  excuse  of  type  and  training. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  she  said  wearily,  and  turned  to  the 
sputtering  bacon. 

Fyfe  put  his  foot  up  on  the  stove  front  and  drummed 
a  tattoo  on  his  mackinaw  clad  knee. 

"  Aren't  you  getting  pretty  sick  of  this  sort  of  work, 
these  more  or  less  uncomfortable  surroundings,  and  the 
sort  of  people  you  have  to  come  in  contact  with?  "  he 
asked  pointedly. 

"  I  am,"  she  returned  as  bluntly,  "  but  I  think  that's 
rather  an  impertinent  question,  Mr.  Fyfe." 


122  BIG   TIMBER 

He  passed  imperturbably  over  this  reproof,  and  his 
glance  turned  briefly  toward  the  dining  room.  Katy 
John  was  still  noisily  at  work. 

"  You  hate  it,"  he  said  positively.  "  I  know  you  do. 
I've  seen  your  feelings  many  a  time.  I  don't  blame 
you.  It's  a  rotten  business  for  a  girl  with  your  tastes 
and  bringing  up.  And  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  it  worse, 
if  this  snow  stays  long.  I  know  what  a  logging  camp 
is  when  work  stops,  and  whisky  creeps  in,  and  the  boss 
lets  go  his  hold  for  the  time  being." 

"  That  may  be  true,"  she  returned  gloomily,  "  but 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  enumerate  these  disagree- 
able things  for  my  benefit." 

"  I'm  going  to  show  you  a  way  out,"  he  said  softly. 
"  I've  been  thinking  it  over  for  quite  a  while.  I  want 
you  to  marry  me." 

Stella  gasped. 

"  Mr.  Fyfe." 

"  Listen,"  he  said  peremptorily,  leaning  closer  to  her 
and  lowering  his  voice.  "  I  have  an  idea  that  you're 
going  to  say  you  don't  love  me.  Lord,  /  know  that. 
But  you  hate  this.  It  grates  against  every  inclination 
of  yours  like  a  file  on  steel.  I  wouldn't  jar  on  you  like 
that.  I  wouldn't  permit  you  to  live  in  surroundings 
that  would.  That's  the  material  side  of  it.  Nobody 
can  live  on  day  dreams.  I  like  you,  Stella  Benton,  a 
whole  lot  more  than  I'd  care  to  say  right  out  loud.  You 
and  I  together  could  make  a  home  we'd  be  proud  of.  I 
want  you,  and  you  want  to  get  away  from  this.  It's 
natural.  Marry  me  and  play  the  game  fair,  and  I  don't 
think  you'll  be  sorry.  I'm  putting  it  as  baldly  as  I  can. 


ONE   WAY    OUT  123 

You  stand  to  win  everything  with  nothing  to  lose  —  but 
your  domestic  chains  — "  the  gleam  of  a  smile  lit  up  his 
features  for  a  second.  "  Won't  you  take  a  chance  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  declared  impulsively.  "  I  won't  be  a 
party  to  any  such  cold-blooded  transaction." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  understand  me,"  he  said  soberly. 
"  I  don't  want  to  hand  out  any  sentiment,  but  it  makes 
me  sore  to  see  you  wasting  yourself  on  this  sort  of 
thing.  If  you  must  do  it,  why  don't  you  do  it  for  some- 
body who'll  make  it  worth  while?  If  you'd  use  the 
brains  God  gave  you,  you  know  that  lots  of  couples 
have  married  on  flimsier  grounds  than  we'd  have.  How 
can  a  man  and  a  woman  really  know  anything  about 
each  other  till  they've  lived  together?  Just  because  we 
don't  marry  with  our  heads  in  the  fog  is  no  reason  we 
shouldn't  get  on  fine.  What  are  you  going  to  do? 
Stick  here  at  this  till  you  go  crazy?  You  won't  get 
away.  You  don't  realize  what  a  one-idea,  determined 
person  this  brother  of  yours  is.  He  has  just  one  object 
in  life,  and  he'll  use  everything  and  everybody  in  sight 
to  attain  that  object.  He  means  to  succeed  and  he 
will.  You're  purely  incidental;  but  he  has  that  per- 
verted, middle-class  family  pride  that  will  make  him 
prevent  you  from  getting  out  and  trying  your  own 
wings.  Nature  never  intended  a  woman  like  you  to  be 
a  celibate,  any  more  than  I  was  so  intended.  And 
sooner  or  late  you'll  marry  somebody  —  if  only  to  hop 
out  of  the  fire  into  the  frying  pan." 

"  I  hate  you,"  she  flashed  passionately,  "  when  you 
talk  like  that." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  he  returned  quietly.     "  You  hate 


124  BIG   TIMBER 

what  I  say,  because  it's  the  truth  —  and  it's  humiliating 
to  be  helpless.  You  think  I  don't  sdbe?  But  I'm  put- 
ting a  weapon  into  your  hand.  Let's  put  it  differently ; 
leave  out  the  sentiment  for  a  minute.  We'll  say  that 
I  want  a  housekeeper,  preferably  an  ornamental  one, 
because  I  like  beautiful  things.  You  want  to  get  away 
from  this  drudgery.  That's  what  it  is,  simple  drudgery. 
You  crave  lots  of  things  you  can't  get  by  yourself,  but 
that  you  could  help  me  get  for  you.  There's  things 
lacking  in  your  life,  and  so  is  there  in  mine.  Why 
shouldn't  we  go  partners?  You  think  about  it." 

"  I  don't  need  to,"  she  answered  coolly.  "  It  wouldn't 
work.  You  don't  appear  to  have  any  idea  what  it 
means  for  a  woman  to  give  herself  up  body  and  soul 
to  a  man  she  doesn't  care  for.  For  me  it  would  be 
plain  selling  myself.  I  haven't  the  least  affection  for 
you  personally.  I  might  even  detest  you." 

"  You  wouldn't,"  he  said  positively. 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure  of  that  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  It  would  sound  conceited  if  I  told  you  why,"  he 
drawled.  "Listen.  We're  not  gods  and  goddesses, 
we  human  beings.  We're  not,  after  all,  in  our  real 
impulses,  so  much  different  from  the  age  when  a  man 
took  his  club  and  went  after  a  female  that  looked  good 
to  him.  They  mated,  and  raised  their  young,  and  very 
likely  faced  on  an  average  fewer  problems  than  arise 
in  modern  marriages  supposedly  ordained  in  Heaven. 
You'd  have  the  one  big  problem  solved, — the  lack  of 
means  to  live  decently, —  which  wrecks  more  homes  than 
anything  else,  far  more  than  lack  of  love.  Affection 
doesn't  seem  to  thrive  on  poverty.  What  is  love?  " 


ONE   WAY   OUT  125 

His  voice  took  on  a  challenging  note. 

Stella  shook  her  head.  He  puzzled  her,  wholly  seri- 
ous one  minute,  a  whimsical  smile  twisting  up  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth  the  next.  And  he  surprised  her  too 
by  his  sureness  of  utterance  on  subjects  she  had  not 
supposed  would  enter  such  a  man's  mind. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  absently,  turning  over 
strips  of  bacon  with  the  long-handled  fork. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  either. 
We'd  start  even,  then,  for  the  sake  of  argument.  No, 
I  guess  we  wouldn't  either,  because  you're  the  only 
woman  I've  run  across  so  far  with  whom  I  could  calmly 
contemplate  spending  the  rest  of  my  life  in  close  con- 
tact. That's  a  fact.  To  me  it's  a  highly  important 
fact.  You  don't  happen  to  have  any  such  feeling  about 
me,  eh?"  . 

"  No.  I  hadn't  even  thought  of  you  in  that  way," 
Stella  answered  truthfully. 

"  You  want  to  think  about  me,"  he  said  calmly. 
"  You  want  to  think  about  me  from  every  possible 
angle,  because  I'm  going  to  come  back  and  ask  you  this 
same  question  every  once  in  a  while,  so  long  as  you're 
in  reach  and  doing  this  dirty  work  for  a  thankless  boss. 
You  want  to  think  of  me  as  a  possible  refuge  from  a 
lot  of  disagreeable  things.  I'd  like  to  have  you  to 
chum  with,  and  I'd  like  to  have  some  incentive  to  put  a 
big  white  bungalow  on  that  old  foundation  for  us  two," 
he  smiled.  "  I'll  never  do  it  for  myself  alone.  Go  on. 
Take  a  gambling  chance  and  marry  me,  Stella.  Say 
yes,  and  say  it  now." 

But  she  shook  her  head  resolutely,  and  as  Katy  John 


126  BIG   TIMBER 

came  in  just  then,  Fyfe  took  his  foot  off  the  stove  and 
went  out  of  the  kitchen.  He  threw  a  glance  over  his 
shoulder  at  Stella,  a  broad  smile,  as  if  to  say  that  he 
harbored  no  grudge,  and  nursed  no  wound  in  his  vanity 
because  she  would  have  none  of  him. 

Katy  rang  the  breakfast  gong.  Five  minutes  later 
the  tattoo  of  knives  and  forks  and  spoons  told  of  appe- 
tites in  process  of  appeasement.  Charlie  came  into  the 
kitchen  in  the  midst  of  this,  bearing  certain  unmistak- 
able signs.  His  eyes  were  inflamed,  his  cheeks  still  bear- 
ing the  flush  of  liquor.  His  demeanor  was  that  of  a 
man  suffering  an  intolerable  headache  and  correspond- 
ingly short-tempered.  Stella  barely  spoke  to  him.  It 
was  bad  enough  for  a  man  to  make  a  beast  of  himself 
with  whisky,  but  far  worse  was  his  gambling  streak. 
There  were  so  many  little  ways  in  which  she  could  have 
eased  things  with  a  few  dollars ;  yet  he  always  grumbled 
when  she  spoke  of  money,  always  put  her  off  with  prom- 
ises to  be  redeemed  when  business  got  better. 

Stella  watched  him  bathe  his  head  copiously  in  cold 
water  and  then  seat  himself  at  the  long  table,  trying 
to  force  food  upon  an  aggrieved  and  rebellious  stomach. 
Gradually  a  flood  of  recklessness  welled  up  in  her  breast. 

"  For  two  pins  I  would  marry  Jack  Fyfe,"  she  told 
herself  savagely.  "  Anything  would  be  better  than 
this." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    PLUNGE 

Stella  went  over  that  queer  debate  a  good  many  times 
in  the  ten  days  that  followed.  It  revealed  Jack  Fyfe 
to  her  in  a  new,  inexplicable  light,  at  odd  variance  with 
her  former  conception  of  the  man.  She  could  not  have 
visualized  him  standing  with  one  foot  on  the  stove  front 
speaking  calmly  of  love  and  marriage  if  she  had  not 
seen  him  with  her  own  eyes,  heard  him  with  somewhat 
incredulous  ears.  She  had  continued  to  endow  him  with 
the  attributes  of  unrestrained  passion,  of  headlong  leap- 
ing to  the  goal  of  his  desires,  of  brushing  aside  obstacles 
and  opposition  with  sheer  brute  force ;  and  he  had  shown 
unreckoned  qualities  of  restraint,  of  understanding. 
She  was  not  quite  sure  if  this  were  guile  or  sensible  con- 
sideration. He  had  put  his  case  logically,  persuasively 
even.  She  was  very  sure  that  if  he  had  adopted  emo- 
tional methods,  she  would  have  been  repelled.  If  he 
had  laid  siege  to  her  hand  and  heart  in  the  orthodox 
fashion,  she  would  have  raised  that  siege  in  short  order. 
As  it  stood,  in  spite  of  her  words  to  him,  there  was  in 
her  own  mind  a  lack  of  finality.  As  she  went  about  her 
daily  tasks,  that  prospect  of  trying  a  fresh  fling  at  the 
world  as  Jack  Fyfe's  wife  tantalized  her  with  certain 
desirable  features. 


128  BIG   TIMBER 

Was  it  worth  while  to  play  the  game  as  she  must 
play  it  for  some  time  to  come,  drudge  away  at  mean, 
sordid  work  and  amid  the  dreariest  sort  of  environment  ? 
At  best,  she  could  only  get  away  from  Charlie's  camp 
and  begin  along  new  lines  that  might  perhaps  be  little 
better,  that  must  inevitably  lie  among  strangers  in  a 
strange  land.  To  what  end?  What  did  she  want  of 
life,  anyway?  She  had  to  admit  that  she  could  not  say 
fully  and  explicitly  what  she  wanted.  When  she  left 
out  her  material  wants,  there  was  nothing  but  a  nebu- 
lous craving  for  —  what?  Love,  she  assumed.  And 
she  could  not  define  love,  except  as  some  incomprehen- 
sible transport  of  emotion  which  irresistibly  drew  a  man 
and  a  woman  together,  a  divine  fire  kindled  in  two 
hearts.  It  was  not  a  thing  she  could  vouch  for  by 
personal  experience.  It  might  never  touch  and  warm 
her,  that  divine  fire.  Instinct  did  now  and  then  warn 
her  that  some  time  it  would  wrap  her  like  a  flame.  But 
in  the  meantime  —  Life  had  her  in  midstream  of  its 
remorseless,  drab  current,  sweeping  her  along.  A  foot- 
hold offered.  Half  a  loaf,  a  single  slice  of  bread  even, 
is  better  than  none. 

Jack  Fyfe  did  not  happen  in  again  for  nearly  two 
weeks  and  then  only  to  pay  a  brief  call,  but  he  stole 
an  opportunity,  when  Katy  John  was  not  looking,  to 
whisper  in  Stella's  ear : 

"  Have  you  been  thinking  about  that  bungalow  of 
ours?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  he  went  out  quietly,  without 
another  word.  He  neither  pleaded  nor  urged,  and  per- 
haps that  was  wisest,  for  in  spite  of  herself  Stella 


THE    PLUNGE  129 

thought  of  him  continually.  He  loomed  always  before 
her,  a  persistent,  compelling  factor. 

She  knew  at  last,  beyond  any  gainsaying,  that  the 
venture  tempted,  largely  perhaps  because  it  contained 
so  great  an  element  of  the  unknown.  To  get  away  from 
this  soul-dwarfing  round  meant  much.  She  felt  herself 
reasoning  desperately  that  the  frying  pan  could  not 
be  worse  than  the  fire,  and  held  at  least  the  merit  of 
greater  dignity  and  freedom  from  the  twin  evils  of 
poverty  and  thankless  domestic  slavery. 

While  she  considered  this,  pro  and  con,  shrinking 
from  such  a  step  one  hour,  considering  it  soberly  the 
next,  the  days  dragged  past  in  wearisome  sequence. 
The  great  depth  of  snow  endured,  was  added  to  by  spas- 
modic flurries.  The  frosts  held.  The  camp  seethed 
with  the  restlessness  of  the  men.  In  default  of  the 
daily  work  that  consumed  their  superfluous  energy, 
the  loggers  argued  and  fought,  drank  and  gambled, 
made  "  rough  house "  in  their  sleeping  quarters  till 
sometimes  Stella's  cheeks  blanched  and  she  expected 
murder  to  be  done.  Twice  the  Chickamin  came  back 
from  Roaring  Springs  with  whisky  aboard,  and  a  pro- 
tracted debauch  ensued.  Once  a  drunken  logger  shoul- 
dered his  way  into  the  kitchen  to  leer  unpleasantly  at 
Stella,  and,  himself  inflamed  by  liquor  and  the  affront, 
Charlie  Benton  beat  the  man  until  his  face  was  a  mass 
of  bloody  bruises.  That  was  only  one  of  a  dozen 
brutal  incidents.  All  the  routine  discipline  of  the  woods 
seemed  to  have  slipped  out  of  Benton's  hands.  When 
the  second  whisky  consignment  struck  the  camp,  Stella 
stayed  in  her  room,  refusing  to  cook  until  order  reigned 


130  BIG   TIMBER 

again.  Benton  grumblingly  took  up  the  burden  him- 
self. With  Katy's  help  and  that  of  sundry  loggers, 
he  fed  the  roistering  crew,  but  for  his  sister  it  was  a 
two-day  period  of  protesting  disgust. 

That  mood,  like  so  many  of  her  moods,  relapsed  into 
dogged  endurance.  She  took  up  the  work  again  when 
Charlie  promised  that  no  more  whisky  should  be  al- 
lowed in  the  camp. 

"  Though  it's  ten  to  one  I  won't  have  a  corporal's 
guard  left  when  I  want  to  start  work  again,"  he  grum- 
bled. "  I'm  well  within  my  rights  if  I  put  my  foot 
down  hard  on  any  jinks  when  there's  work,  but  I  have 
no  license  to  set  myself  up  as  guardian  of  a  logger's 
morals  and  pocketbook  when  I  have  nothing  for  him  to 
do.  These  fellows  are  paying  their  board.  So  long 
as  they  don't  make  themselves  obnoxious  to  you,  I  don't 
see  that  it's  our  funeral  whether  they're  drunk  or  sober. 
They'd  tell  me  so  quick  enough." 

To  this  pronouncement  of  expediency  Stella  made  no 
rejoinder.  She  no  longer  expected  anything  much  of 
Charlie,  in  the  way  of  consideration.  So  far  as  she 
could  see,  she,  his  sister,  was  little  more  to  him  than  one 
of  his  loggers ;  a  little  less  important  than,  say,  his 
donkey  engineer.  In  so  far  as  she  conduced  to  the 
well-being  of  the  camp  and  effected  a  saving  to  his 
credit  in  the  matter  of  preparing  food,  he  valued  her 
and  was  willing  to  concede  a  minor  point  to  satisfy  her. 
Beyond  that  Stella  felt  that  he  did  not  go.  Five  years 
in  totally  different  environments  had  dug  a  great  gulf 
between  them.  He  felt  an  arbitrary  sense  of  duty 
toward  her,  she  knew,  but  in  its  manifestations  it  never 


THE    PLUNGE  131 

lapped  over  the  bounds  of  his  own  immediate  self-inter- 
est. 

And  so  when  she  blundered  upon  knowledge  of  a  state 
of  affairs  which  must  have  existed  under  her  very  nose 
for  some  time,  there  were  few  remnants  of  sisterly  affec- 
tion to  bid  her  seek  extenuating  circumstances. 

Katy  John  proved  the  final  straw.  Just  by  what 
means  Stella  grew  to  suspect  any  such  moral  lapse  on 
Benton's  part  is  wholly  irrelevant.  Once  the  unpleas- 
ant likelihood  came  to  her  notice,  she  took  measures  to 
verify  her  suspicion,  and  when  convinced  she  taxed  her 
brother  with  it,  to  his  utter  confusion. 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  are  you  ?  "  she  cried  at  last 
in  shamed  anger.  "  Is  there  nothing  too  low  for  you 
to  dabble  in?  Haven't  you  any  respect  for  anything 
or  anybody,  yourself  included?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  like  a  damned  Puritan,"  Benton 
growled,  though  his  tanned  face  was  burning.  "  This 
is  what  comes  of  having  women  around  the  camp.  I'll 
send  the  girl  away." 

"  You  —  you  beast !  "  she  flared  —  and  ran  out  of 
the  kitchen  to  seek  refuge  in  her  own  room  and  cry  into 
her  pillow  some  of  the  dumb  protest  that  surged  up 
within  her.  For  her  knowledge  of  passion  and  the 
workings  of  passion  as  they  bore  upon  the  relations  of 
a  man  and  a  woman  were  at  once  vague  and  tinctured 
with  inflexible  tenets  of  morality,  the  steel-hard  con- 
ception of  virtue  which  is  the  bulwark  of  middle-class 
theory  for  its  wives  and  daughters  and  sisters  —  with 
an  eye  consistently  blind  to  the  concealed  lapses  of  its 
men. 


132  BIG    TIMBER 

Stella  Benton  passed  that  morning  through  succes- 
sive stages  of  shocked  amazement,  of  pity,  and  disgust. 
As  between  her  brother  and  the  Siwash  girl,  she  saw 
little  to  choose.  From  her  virtuous  pinnacle  she  ab- 
horred both.  If  she  had  to  continue  intimate  living 
with  them,  she  felt  that  she  would  be  utterly  defiled, 
degraded  to  their  level.  That  was  her  first  definite 
conclusion. 

After  a  time  she  heard  Benton  come  into  their  living 
room  and  light  a  fire  in  the  heater.  She  dried  her  eyes 
and  went  out  to  face  him. 

"  Charlie,"  she  declared  desperately,  "  I  can't  stay 
here  any  longer.  It's  simply  impossible." 

"  Don't  start  that  song  again.  We've  had  it  often 
enough,"  he  answered  stubbornly.  "  You're  not  going 
—  not  till  spring.  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go  in  the 
frame  of  mind  you're  in  right  now,  anyhow.  You'll  get 
over  that.  Hang  it,  I'm  not  the  first  man  whose  foot 
slipped.  It  isn't  your  funeral,  anyway.  Forget  it." 

The  grumbling  coarseness  of  this  retort  left  her 
speechless.  Benton  got  the  fire  going  and  went  out. 
She  saw  him  cross  to  the  kitchen,  and  later  she  saw 
Katy  John  leave  the  camp  with  all  her  belongings  in  a 
bundle  over  her  shoulder,  trudging  away  to  the  camp  of 
her  people  around  the  point. 

Kipling's  pregnant  line  shot  across  her  mind : 

"  For  the  colonel's  lady  and  Judy  O'Grady  are  sis- 
ters under  their  skins." 

"  I  wonder,"  she  mused.  "  I  wonder  if  we  are  ?  I 
wonder  if  that  poor,  little,  brown-skinned  fool  isn't 
after  all  as  much  a  victim  as  I  am.  She  doesn't  know 


THE   PLUNGE  133 

better,  maybe;  but  Charlie  does,  and  he  doesn't  seem 
to  care.  It  merely  embarrasses  him  to  be  found  out, 
that's  all.  It  isn't  right.  It  isn't  fair,  or  decent,  or 
anything.  We're  just  for  him  to  —  to  use." 

She  looked  out  along  the  shores  piled  high  with 
broken  ice  and  snow,  through  a  misty  air  to  distant 
mountains  that  lifted  themselves  imperiously  aloof, 
white  spires  against  the  sky, —  over  a  forest  all  draped 
in  winter  robes ;  shore,  mountains,  and  forest  alike  were 
chill  and  hushed  and  desolate.  The  lake  spread  its 
forty-odd  miles  in  a  boomerang  curve  from  Roaring 
Springs  to  Fort  Douglas,  a  cold,  lifeless  gray.  She  sat 
a  long  time  looking  at  that,  and  a  dead  weight  seemed 
to  settle  upon  her  heart.  For  the  second  time  that  day 
she  broke  down.  Not  the  shamed,  indignant  weeping  of 
an  hour  earlier,  but  with  the  essence  of  all  things 
forlorn  and  desolate  in  her  choked  sobs. 

She  did  not  hear  Jack  Fyfe  come  in.  She  did  not 
dream  he  was  there,  until  she  felt  his  hand  gently  on  her 
shoulder  and  looked  up.  And  so  deep  was  her  despond- 
ency, so  keen  the  unassuaged  craving  for  some  human 
sympathy,  some  measure  of  understanding,  that  she 
made  no  effort  to  remove  his  hand.  She  was  in  too 
deep  a  spiritual  quagmire  to  refuse  any  sort  of  aid, 
too  deeply  moved  to  indulge  in  analytical  self-fathoming. 
She  had  a  dim  sense  of  being  oddly  comforted  by  his 
presence,  as  if  she,  afloat  on  uncharted  seas,  saw  sud- 
denly near  at  hand  a  safe  anchorage  and  welcoming 
hands.  Afterward  she  recalled  that.  As  it  was,  she 
looked  up  at  Fyfe  and  hid  her  wet  face  in  her  hands 
again.  He  stood  silent  a  few  seconds.  When  he  did 


i34  BIG   TIMBER 

speak   there   was    a   peculiar   hesitation   in   his    voice. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said  softly.  "  What's  the  trouble 
now?  " 

Briefly  she  told  him,  the  barriers  of  her  habitual 
reserve  swept  aside  before  the  essentially  human  need 
to  share  a  burden  that  has  grown  too  great  to  bear 
alone. 

"  Oh,  hell,"  Fyfe  grunted,  when  she  had  finished. 
"  This  isn't  any  place  for  you  at  all." 

He  slid  his  arm  across  her  shoulders  and  tilted  her 
face  with  his  other  hand  so  that  her  eyes  met  his.  And 
she  felt  no  desire  to  draw  away  or  any  of  that  old  in- 
stinct to  be  on  her  guard  against  him.  For  all  she  knew 
—  indeed,  by  all  she  had  been  told  —  Jack  Fyfe  was 
tarred  with  the  same  stick  as  her  brother,  but  she  had 
no  thought  of  resisting  him,  no  feeling  of  repul- 
sion. 

"  Will  you  marry  me,  Stella  ?  "  he  asked  evenly.  "  I 
can  free  you  from  this  sort  of  thing  forever." 

"How  can  I?"  she  returned.  "I  don't  want  to 
marry  anybody.  I  don't  love  you.  I'm  not  even  sure 
I  like  you.  I'm  too  miserable  to  think,  even.  I'm 
afraid  to  take  a  step  like  that.  I  should  think  you 
would  be  too." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  thought  a  lot  about  it  lately,"  he  said.  "  It 
hasn't  occurred  to  me  to  be  afraid  of  how  it  may  turn 
out.  Why  borrow  trouble  when  there's  plenty  at  hand? 
I  don't  care  whether  you  love  me  or  not,  right  now. 
You  couldn't  possibly  be  any  worse  off  as  my  wife, 
could  you  ?  " 


THE    PLUNGE  135 

"  No,"  she  admitted.     "  I  don't  see  how  I  could." 

"  Take  a  chance  then,"  he  urged.  "  I'll  make  a  fair 
bargain  with  you.  I'll  make  life  as  pleasant  for  you 
as  I  can.  You'll  live  pretty  much  as  you've  been 
brought  up  to  live,  so  far  as  money  goes.  The  rest 
we'll  have  to  work  out  for  ourselves.  I  won't  ask 
you  to  pretend  anything  you  don't  feel.  You'll  play 
fair,  because  that's  the  way  you're  made, —  unless  I've 
sized  you  up  wrong.  It'll  simply  be  a  case  of  our 
adjusting  ourselves,  just  as  mating  couples  have  been 
doing  since  the  year  one.  You've  everything  to  gain 
and  nothing  to  lose." 

"  In  some  ways,"  she  murmured. 

"  Every  way,"  he  insisted.  "  You  aren't  handi- 
capped by  caring  for  any  other  man." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  she  asked. 

"Just  a  hunch,"  Fyfe  smiled.  "If  you  did,  he'd 
have  beaten  me  to  the  rescue  long  ago  —  if  he  were  the 
sort  of  man  you  could  care  for." 

"  No,"  she  admitted.  "  There  isn't  any  other  man, 
but  there  might  be.  Think  how  terrible  it  would  be  if 
it  happened  —  afterward." 

Fyfe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  day,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no 
string  on  either  of  us  just  now.  We  start  even. 
That's  good  enough.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  me  at  a  disadvantage,"  she  whispered. 
"  You  offer  me  a  lot  that  I  want,  everything  but  a  feel- 
ing I've  somehow  always  believed  ought  to  exist,  ought 
to  be  mutual.  Part  of  me  wants  to  shut  my  eyes  and 
jump.  Part  of  me  wants  to  hang  back.  I  can't  stand 


i36  BIG   TIMBER 

this  thing  I've  got  into  and  see  no  way  of  getting  out 
of.  Yet  I  dread  starting  a  new  train  of  wretchedness. 
I'm  afraid  —  whichever  way  I  turn." 

Fyfe  considered  this  a  moment. 

"  Well,"  he  said  finally,  "  that's  a  rather  unfortunate 
attitude.  But  I'm  going  into  it  with  my  eyes  open. 
I  know  what  I  want.  You'll  be  making  a  sort  of  experi- 
ment. Still,  I  advise  you  to  make  it.  I  think  you'll  be 
the  better  for  making  it.  Come  on.  Say  yes." 

Stella  looked  up  at  him,  then  out  over  the  banked 
snow,  and  all  the  dreary  discomforts,  the  mean  drudg- 
ery, the  sordid  shifts  she  had  been  put  to  for  months 
rose  up  in  disheartening  phalanx.  For  that  moment 
Jack  Fyfe  loomed  like  a  tower  of  refuge.  She  trusted 
him  now.  She  had  a  feeling  that  even  if  she  grew  to 
dislike  him,  she  would  still  trust  him.  He  would  play 
fair.  If  he  said  he  would  do  this  or  that,  she  could 
bank  on  it  absolutely. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  searchingly  a  long  half- 
minute,  wondering  what  really  lay  behind  the  blue  eyes 
that  met  her  own  so  steadfastly.  He  stood  waiting 
patiently,  outwardly  impassive.  But  she  could  feel 
through  the  thin  stuff  of  her  dress  a  quiver  in  the 
fingers  that  rested  on  her  shoulder,  and  that  repressed 
sign  of  the  man's  pent-up  feeling  gave  her  an  odd  thrill, 
moved  her  strangely,  swung  the  pendulum  of  her  im- 
pulse. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

Fyfe  bent  a  little  lower. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  in  characteristically  blunt  fashion. 
"  You  want  to  get  away  from  here.  There  is  no  sense 


THE    PLUNGE  13? 

in  our  fussing  or  hesitating  about  what  we're  going  to 
do,  is  there?  " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  she  agreed. 

"  I'll  send  the  Panther  down  to  the  Springs  for  Lefty 
Howe's  wife,"  he  outlined  his  plans  unhesitatingly. 
"  She'll  get  up  here  this  evening.  To-morrow  we  will 
go  down  and  take  the  train  to  Vancouver  and  be  mar- 
ried. You  have  plenty  of  good  clothes,  good  enough 
for  Vancouver.  I  know," — with  a  whimsical  smile, — 
"  because  you  had  when  you  came  last  summer,  and 
you've  had  no  chance  to  wear  them  out.  Then  we'll 
go  somewhere,  California,  Florida,  and  come  back 
to  Roaring  Lake  in  the  spring.  You'll  have  all 
the  bad  taste  of  this  out  of  your  mouth  by  that 
time." 

Stella  nodded  acquiescence.  Better  to  make  the 
plunge  boldly,  since  she  had  elected  to  make  it. 

"All  right.  I'm  going  to  tell  Benton,"  Fyfe  said. 
"  Good-by  till  to-morrow." 

She  stood  up.  He  looked  at  her  a  long  time 
earnestly,  searchingly,  one  of  her  hands  imprisoned 
tight  between  his  two  big  palms.  Then,  before  she  was- 
quite  aware  of  his  intention,  he  kissed  her  gently  on 
the  mouth,  and  was  gone. 

This  turn  of  events  left  Benton  dumbfounded,  to  use 
a  trite  but  expressive  phrase.  He  came  in,  apparently 
to  look  at  Stella  in  amazed  curiosity,  for  at  first  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  He  sat  down  beside  his  makeshift 
desk  and  pawed  over  some  papers,  running  the  fingers 
of  one  hand  through  his  thick  brown  hair. 


i38  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Well,  Sis,"  he  blurted  out  at  last.  "  I  suppose  you 
know  what  you're  doing?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  Stella  returned  composedly. 

"But  why  all  this  mad  haste?"  he  asked.  "If 
jou're  going  to  get  married,  why  didn't  you  let  me 
know,  so  I  could  give  you  some  sort  of  decent  send-off." 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  she  returned  dryly.  "  I  don't  think 
ihat's  necessary.  Not  at  this  stage  of  the  game,  as  you 
occasionally  remark." 

He  ruminated  upon  this  a  minute,  flushing  slightly. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  luck,"  he  said  sincerely  enough. 
*l  Though  I  can  hardly  realize  this  sudden  move.  You 
and  Jack  Fyfe  may  get  on  all  right.  He's  a  good 
sort  —  in  his  way." 

"  His  way  suits  me,"  she  said,  spurred  to  the  defensive 
by  what  she  deemed  a  note  of  disparagement  in  his 
utterance.  "If  you  have  any  objections  or  criticisms, 
you  can  save  your  breath  —  or  address  them  direct  to 
Mr.  Fyfe." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  grinned.  "  I  don't  care  to  get 
into  any  argument  with  him,  especially  as  he's  going  to 
be  my  brother-in-law.  Fyfe's  all  right.  I  didn't 
imagine  he  was  the  sort  of  man  you'd  fancy,  that's  all." 

Stella  refrained  from  any  comment  on  this.  She  had 
no  intention  of  admitting  to  Charlie  that  marriage  with 
Jack  Fyfe  commended  itself  to  her  chiefly  as  an  avenue 
of  escape  from  a  well-nigh  intolerable  condition  which 
he  himself  had  inflicted  upon  her.  Her  pride  rose  in 
arms  against  any  such  belittling  admission.  She  ad- 
mitted it  frankly  to  herself, —  and  to  Fyfe, —  because 
Fyfe  understood  and  was  content  with  that  understand- 


THE   PLUNGE  139 

ing.  She  desired  to  forget  that  phase  of  the  transac- 
tion. She  told  herself  that  she  meant  honestly  to  make 
the  best  of  it. 

Benton  turned  again  to  his  papers.  He  did  not 
broach  the  subject  again  until  in  the  distance  the  squat 
hull  of  the  Panther  began  to  show  on  her  return  from 
the  Springs.  Then  he  came  to  where  Stella  was  putting 
the  last  of  her  things  into  her  trunk.  He  had  some 
banknotes  in  one  hand,  and  a  check. 

"  Here's  that  ninety  I  borrowed,  Stell,"  he  said. 
"  And  a  check  for  your  back  pay.  Things  have  been 
sort  of  lean  around  here,  maybe,  but  I  still  think  it's 
a  pity  you  couldn't  have  stuck  it  out  till  it  came 
smoother.  I  hate  to  see  you  going  away  with  a  chronic 
grouch  against  me.  I  suppose  I  wouldn't  even  be  a 
welcome  guest  at  the  wedding?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  unforgivingly.  "  Some  things  are 
a  little  too  —  too  recent." 

"  Oh,"  he  replied  casually  enough,  pausing  in  the 
doorway  a  second  on  his  way  out,  "  you'll  get  over 
that.  You'll  find  that  ordinary,  everyday  living  isn't 
any  kid-glove  affair." 

She  sat  on  the  closed  lid  of  her  trunk,  looking  at  the 
check  and  money.  Three  hundred  and  sixty  dollars, 
all  told.  A  month  ago  that  would  have  spelled  free- 
dom, a  chance  to  try  her  luck  in  less  desolate  fields. 
Well,  she  tried  to  consider  the  thing  philosophically; 
it  was  no  use  to  bewail  what  might  have  been.  In  her 
hands  now  lay  the  sinews  of  a  war  she  had  forgone  all 
need  of  waging.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  repudiate 
her  bargain  with  Jack  Fyfe.  She  had  given  her 


i4o  BIG   TIMBER 

promise,  and  she  considered  she  was  bound,  irrevocably. 
Indeed,  for  the  moment,  she  was  glad  of  that.  She 
was  worn  out,  all  weary  with  unaccustomed  stress  of 
body  and  mind.  To  her,  just  then,  rest  seemed  the 
sweetest  boon  in  the  world.  Any  port  in  a  storm,  ex- 
pressed her  mood.  What  came  after  was  to  be  met  as 
it  came.  She  was  too  tired  to  anticipate. 

It  was  a  pale,  weary-eyed  young  woman,  dressed  in 
the  same  plain  tailored  suit  she  had  worn  into  the  coun- 
try, who  was  cuddled  to  Mrs.  Howe's  plump  bosom  when 
she  went  aboard  the  Panther  for  the  first  stage  of  her 
j  ourney. 

A  slaty  bank  of  cloud  spread  a  somber  film  across  the 
sky.  When  the  Panther  laid  her  ice-sheathed  guard- 
rail against  the  Hot  Springs  wharf  the  sun  was  down. 
The  lake  spread  gray  and  lifeless  under  a  gray  sky,  and 
Stella  Benton's  spirits  were  steeped  in  that  same  dour 
color. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AND    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

Spring  had  waved  her  transforming  wand  over  the 
lake  region  before  the  Fyfes  came  home  again.  All 
the  low  ground,  the  creeks  and  hollows  and  banks,  were 
bright  green  with  new-leaved  birch  and  alder  and  maple. 
The  air  was  full  of  those  aromatic  exudations  the  forest 
throws  off  when  it  is  in  the  full  tide  of  the  growing 
time.  Shores  that  Stella  had  last  seen  dismal  and  for- 
lorn in  the  frost-fog,  sheathed  in  ice,  banked  with  deep 
snow,  lay  sparkling  now  in  warm  sunshine,  under  an 
unflecked  arch  of  blue.  All  that  was  left  of  winter  was 
the  white  cap  on  Mount  Douglas,  snow-filled  chasms 
on  distant,  rocky  peaks.  Stella  stood  on  the  Hot 
Springs  wharf  looking  out  across  the  emerald  deep  of 
the  lake,  thinking  soberly  of  the  contrast. 

Something,  she  reflected,  some  part  of  that  desolate 
winter,  must  have  seeped  to  the  very  roots  of  her  being 
to  produce  the  state  of  mind  in  which  she  embarked 
upon  that  matrimonial  voyage.  A  little  of  it  clung  to 
her  still.  She  could  look  back  at  those  months  of  lone- 
liness, of  immeasurable  toil  and  numberless  indignities, 
without  any  qualms.  There  would  be  no  repetition  of 
that.  The  world  at  large  would  say  she  had  done 
well.  She  herself  in  her  most  cynical  moments  could 


i42  BIG   TIMBER 

not  deny  that  she  had  done  well.  Materially,  life 
promised  to  be  generous.  She  was  married  to  a  man 
who  quietly  but  inexorably  got  what  he  wanted,  and  it 
was  her  good  fortune  that  he  wanted  her  to  have  the 
best  of  everything. 

She  saw  him  now  coming  from  the  hotel,  and  she  re- 
garded him  thoughtfully,  a  powerful  figure  swinging 
along  with  light,  effortless  steps.  He  was  back  on  his 
own  ground,  openly  glad  to  be  back.  Yet  she  could  not 
recall  that  he  had  ever  shown  himself  at  a  disadvantage 
anywhere  they  had  been  together.  He  wore  evening 
clothes  when  occasion  required  as  unconcernedly  as 
he  wore  mackinaws  and  calked  boots  among  his  log- 
gers. She  had  not  yet  determined  whether  his  equable 
poise  arose  from  an  unequivocal  democracy  of  spirit, 
or  from  sheer  egotism.  At  any  rate,  where  she  had 
set  out  with  subtle  misgivings,  she  had  to  admit  that 
socially,  at  least,  Jack  Fyfe  could  play  his  hand  at 
any  turn  of  the  game.  Where  or  how  he  came  by  this 
faculty,  she  did  not  know.  In  fact,  so  far  as  Jack 
Fyfe's  breeding  and  antecedents  were  concerned,  she 
knew  little  more  than  before  their  marriage.  He  was 
not  given  to  reminiscence.  His  people  —  distant  rela- 
tives —  lived  in  her  own  native  state  of  Pennsylvania. 
He  had  an  only  sister  who  was  now  in  South  America 
with  her  husband,  a  civil  engineer.  Beyond  that  Fyfe 
did  not  go,  and  Stella  made  no  attempt  to  pry  up  the 
lid  of  his  past.  She  was  not  particularly  curious. 

Her  clearest  judgment  of  him  was  at  first  hand.  He 
was  a  big,  virile  type  of  man,  generous,  considerate,  so 
sure  of  himself  that  he  could  be  tolerant  of  others.  She 


AND    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED       143 

could  easily  understand  why  Roaring  Lake  considered 
Jack  Fyfe  "  square."  The  other  tales  of  him  that 
circulated  there  she  doubted  now.  The  fighting  type 
he  certainly  was,  aggressive  in  a  clash,  but  if  there  were 
any  downright  coarseness  in  him,  it  had  never  mani- 
fested itself  to  her.  She  was  not  sorry  she  had  married 
him.  If  they  had  not  set  out  blind  in  a  fog  of  senti- 
ment, as  he  had  once  put  it,  nevertheless  they  got  on. 
She  did  not  love  him, —  not  as  she  defined  that  magic 
word, —  but  she  liked  him,  was  mildly  proud  of  him. 
When  he  kissed  her,  if  there  were  no  mad  thrill  in  it, 
there  was  at  least  a  passive  contentment  in  having  in- 
spired that  affection.  For  he  left  her  in  no  doubt  as 
to  where  he  stood,  not  by  what  he  said,  but  wholly  by 
his  actions. 

He  joined  her  now.  The  Panther,  glossy  black  as  a 
crow's  wing  with  fresh  paint,  lay  at  the  pier-end  with 
their  trunks  aboard.  Stella  surveyed  those  marked 
with  her  initials,  looking  them  over  with  a  critical  eye, 
when  they  reached  the  deck. 

"  How  in  the  world  did  I  ever  manage  to  accumulate 
so  much  stuff,  Jack?  "  she  asked  quizzically.  "  I  didn't 
realize  it.  We  might  have  been  doing  Europe  with 
souvenir  collecting  our  principal  aim,  by  the  amount 
of  our  baggage." 

Fyfe  smiled,  without  commenting.  They  sat  on  a 
trunk  and  watched  Roaring  Springs  fall  astern,  dwindle 
to  a  line  of  white  dots  against  the  great  green  base 
of  the  mountain  that  rose  behind  it. 

"  It's  good  to  get  back  here,"  he  said  at  last.  "  To 
me,  anyway.  How  about  it,  Stella?  You  haven't  got 


144  BIG   TIMBER 

so  much  of  a  grievance  with  the  world  in  general  as 
you  had  when  we  left,  eh?  " 

"  No,  thank  goodness,"  she  responded  fervently. 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  you  had,"  he  observed,  his 
eyes  admiringly  upon  her. 

Nor  had  she.  There  was  a  bloom  on  the  soft  con- 
tour of  her  cheek,  a  luminous  gleam  in  her  wide,  gray 
eyes.  All  the  ill  wrought  by  months  of  drudging  work 
and  mental  revolt  had  vanished.  She  was  undeniably 
good  to  look  at,  a  woman  in  full  flower,  round-bodied, 
deep-breasted,  aglow  with  the  unquenched  fires  of  youth. 
She  was  aware  that  Jack  Fyfe  found  her  so  and  toler- 
ably glad  that  he  did  so  find  her.  She  had  revised  a 
good  many  of  her  first  groping  estimates  of  him  that 
winter.  And  when  she  looked  over  the  port  bow  and 
saw  in  behind  Halfway  Point  the  huddled  shacks  of  her 
brother's  camp  where  so  much  had  overtaken  her,  she 
experienced  a  swift  rush  of  thankfulness  that  she  was  — 
as  she  was.  She  slid  her  gloved  hand  impulsively  into 
Jack  Fyfe's,  and  his  strong  fingers  shut  down  on  hers 
closely. 

They  sat  silent  until  the  camp  lay  abeam.  About  it 
there  was  every  sign  of  activity.  A  chunky  stern- 
wheeler,  with  blow-off  valve  hissing,  stood  by  a  boom 
of  logs  in  the  bay,  and  men  were  moving  back  and  forth 
across  the  swifters,  making  all  ready  for  a  tow.  Stella 
marked  a  new  bunkhouse.  Away  back  on  the  logging 
ground  in  a  greater  clearing  she  saw  the  separate  smoke 
of  two  donkey  engines.  Another,  a  big  reader,  Fyfe 
explained,  puffed  at  the  water's  edge.  She  could  see 
a  string  of  logs  tearing  down  the  skid-road. 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE   MARRIED       145 

"  He's  going  pretty  strong,  that  brother  of  yours," 
Fyfe  remarked.  "  If  he  holds  his  gait,  he'll  be  a  big 
timberman  before  you  know  it." 

"  He'll  make  money,  I  imagine,"  Stella  admitted, 
"  but  I  don't  know  what  good  that  will  do  him.  He'll 
only  want  more.  What  is  there  about  money-making 
that  warps  some  men  so,  makes  them  so  grossly  self- 
centered?  I'd  pity  any  girl  who  married  Charlie.  He 
used  to  be  rather  wild  at  home,  but  I  never  dreamed  any 
man  could  change  so." 

"  You  use  the  conventional  measuring-stick  on  him," 
her  husband  answered,  with  that  tolerance  which  so 
often  surprised  her.  "  Maybe  his  ways  are  pretty 
crude.  But  he's  feverishly  hewing  a  competence  — 
which  is  what  we're  all  after  —  out  of  pretty  crude  ma- 
terial. And  he's  just  a  kid,  after  all,  with  a  kid's 
tendency  to  go  to  extremes  now  and  then.  I  kinda  like 
the  beggar's  ambition  and  energy." 

"  But  he  hasn't  the  least  consideration  for  any- 
body or  anything,"  Stella  protested.  "  He  rides 
rough-shod  over  every  one.  That  isn't  either  right  or 
decent." 

"  It's  the  only  way  some  men  can  get  to  the  top," 
Fyfe  answered  quietly.  "  They  concentrate  on  the  ob- 
ject to  be  attained.  That's  all  that  counts  until  they're 
in  a  secure  position.  Then,  when  they  stop  to  draw 
their  breath,  sometimes  they  find  they've  done  lots  of 
things  they  wouldn't  do  again.  You  watch.  By  and 
by  Charlie  Benton  will  cease  to  have  those  violent  re- 
actions that  offend  you  so.  As  it  is  —  he's  a  youngster, 
bucking  a  big  game.  Life,  when  you  have  your  own 


I46  BIG   TIMBER 

way  to  hew  through  it,  with  little  besides  your  hands 
and  brain  for  capital,  is  no  silk-lined  affair." 

She  fell  into  thought  over  this  reply.  Fyfe  had 
echoed  almost  her  brother's  last  words  to  her.  And 
she  wondered  if  Jack  Fyfe  had  attained  that  degree  of 
economic  power  which  enabled  him  to  spend  several 
thousand  dollars  on  a  winter's  pleasuring  with  her  by 
the  exercise  of  a  strong  man's  prerogative  of  overriding 
the  weak,  bending  them  to  his  own  inflexible  purposes, 
ruthlessly  turning  everything  to  his  own  advantage? 
If  women  came  under  the  same  head !  She  recalled  Katy 
John,  and  her  face  burned.  Perhaps.  But  she  could 
not  put  Jack  Fyfe  in  her  brother's  category.  He  didn't 
fit.  Deep  in  her  heart  there  still  lurked  an  abiding 
resentment  against  Charlie  Benton  for  the  restraint 
he  had  put  upon  her  and  the  license  he  had  arrogated 
to  himself.  She  could  not  convince  herself  that  the 
lapses  of  that  winter  were  not  part  and  parcel  of  her 
brother's  philosophy  of  life,  a  coarse  and  material 
philosophy. 

Presently  they  were  drawing  in  to  Cougar  Point,  with 
the  weather-bleached  buildings  of  Fyfe's  camp  showing 
now  among  the  upspringing  second-growth  scrub. 
Fyfe  went  forward  and  spoke  to  the  man  at  the  wheel. 
The  Panther  swung  offshore. 

"  Why  are  we  going  out  again  ?  "  Stella  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  for  fun,"  Fyfe  smiled. 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  slipped  one  arm  around 
her  waist.  In  a  few  minutes  they  cleared  the  point. 
Stella  was  looking  away  across  the  lake,  at  the  deep 
cleft  where  Silver  Creek  split  a  mountain  range  in  twain. 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED       147 

"  Look  around,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  the  House  of  Fyfe." 

There  it  stood,  snow-white,  broad-porched,  a  new 
house  reared  upon  the  old  stone  foundation  she  remem- 
bered. The  noon  sun  struck  flashing  on  the  windows. 
About  it  spread  the  living  green  of  the  grassy  square, 
behind  that  towered  the  massive,  darker-hued  back- 
ground of  the  forest. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  wizard  of  construc- 
tion did  the  work.  That  was  why  you  fussed  so  long 
over  those  plans  in  Los  Angeles.  I  thought  it  was  to 
be  this  summer  or  maybe  next  winter.  I  never  dreamed 
you  were  having  it  built  right  away." 

"  Well,  isn't  it  rather  nice  to  come  home  to  ?  "  he  ob- 
served. 

"  It's  dear.  A  homey  looking  place,"  she  answered. 
"  A  beautiful  site,  and  the  house  fits, —  that  white  and 
the  red  tiles.  Is  the  big  stone  fireplace  in  the  living 
room,  Jack?  " 

"  Yes,  and  one  in  pretty  nearly  every  other  room 
besides,"  he  nodded.  "  Wood  fires  are  cheerful." 

The  Panther  turned  her  nose  shoreward  at  Fyfe's 
word. 

"  I  wondered  about  that  foundation  the  first  time  I 
saw  it,"  Stella  confessed,  "  whether  you  built  it,  and 
why  it  was  never  finished.  There  was  moss  over  the 
stones  in  places.  And  that  lawn  wasn't  made  in  a  single 
season.  I  know,  because  dad  had  a  country  place  once, 
and  he  was  raging  around  two  or  three  summers  be- 
cause the  land  was  so  hard  to  get  well-grassed." 

"  No,  I  didn't  build  the  foundation  or  make  the  lawn," 


148  BIG    TIMBER 

Fjfe  told  her.  "  I  merely  kept  it  in  shape.  A  man 
named  Hale  owned  the  land  that  takes  in  the  bay  and 
the  point  when  I  first  came  to  the  lake.  He  was  going 
to  be  married.  I  knew  him  pretty  well.  But  it  was 
tough  going  those  days.  He  was  in  the  hole  on  some 
of  his  timber,  and  he  and  his  girl  kept  waiting.  Mean- 
time he  cleared  and  graded  that  little  hill,  sowed  it  to 
grass,  and  laid  the  foundation.  He  was  about  to  start 
building  when  he  was  killed.  A  falling  tree  caught 
him.  I  bought  in  his  land  and€the  timber  limits  that  lie 
back  of  it.  That's  how  the  foundation  came  there." 

"  It's  a  wonder  it  didn't  grow  up  wild,"  Stella  mused. 
"How  long  ago  was  that?" 

"  About  five  years,"  Fyfe  said.  "  I  kept  the  grass 
trimmed.  It  didn't  seem  right  to  let  the  brush  over- 
run it  after  the  poor  devil  put  that  labor  of  love  on  it. 
It  always  seemed  to  me  that  it  should  be  kept  smooth 
and  green,  and  that  there  should  be  a  big,  roomy 
bungalow  there.  You  see  my  hunch  was  correct,  too." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  some  wonder.  She  hadn't 
accustomed  herself  to  associating  Jack  Fyfe  with  ac* 
tions  based  on  pure  sentiment.  He  was  too  intensely 
masculine,  solid,  practical,  impassive.  He  did  not  seem 
to  realize  even  that  sentiment  had  influenced  him  in  this. 
He  discussed  it  too  matter-of-factly  for  that.  She 
wondered  what  became  of  the  bride-to-be.  But  that 
Fyfe  could  not  tell  her. 

"  Hale  showed  me  her  picture  once,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  never  saw  her.  Oh,  I  suppose  she's  married  some 
other  fellow  long  ago.  Hale  was  a  good  sort.  He  was 
out-lucked,  that's  all." 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE   MARRIED       149 

The  Panther  slid  in  to  the  float.  Jack  and  Stella 
went  ashore.  Lefty  Howe  came  down  to  meet  them. 
Thirty-five  or  forty  men  were  stringing  away  from  the 
camp,  back  to  their  work  in  the  woods.  Some  waved 
greeting  to  Jack  Fyfe,  and  he  waved  back  in  the  hail- 
fellow  fashion  of  the  camps. 

"How's  the  frau,  Lefty?"  he  inquired,  after  they 
had  shaken  hands. 

"  Fine.  Down  to  Vancouver.  Sister's  sick,"  Howe 
answered  laconically.  "  House's  all  shipshape.  Wanta 
eat  here,  or  up  there?  " 

"  Here  at  the  camp,  until  we  get  straightened 
around,"  Fyfe  responded.  "  Tell  Pollock  to  have 
something  for  us  in  about  half  an  hour.  We'll  go  up 
and  take  a  look." 

Howe  went  in  to  convey  this  message,  and  the  two 
set  off  up  the  path.  A  sudden  spirit  of  impishness  made 
Jack  Fyfe  sprint.  Stella  gathered  up  her  skirt  and 
raced  after  him,  but  a  sudden  shortness  of  breath  over- 
took her,  and  she  came  panting  to  where  Fyfe  had 
stopped  to  wait. 

"  You'll  have  to  climb  hills  and  row  and  swim  so 
you'll  get  some  wind,"  Fyfe  chuckled.  "  Too  much 
easy  living,  lady." 

She  smiled  without  making  any  reply  to  this  sally, 
and  they  entered  the  house  —  the  House  of  Fyfe,  that 
was  to  be  her  home. 

If  the  exterior  had  pleased  her,  she  went  from  room 
to  room  inside  with  growing  amazement.  Fyfe  had  fin- 
ished it  from  basement  to  attic  without  a  word  to  her 
that  he  had  any  such  undertaking  in  hand.  Yet  there 


i5o  BIG   TIMBER 

was  scarcely  a  room  in  which  she  could  not  find  the 
visible  result  of  some  expressed  wish  or  desire.  Often 
during  the  winter  they  had  talked  over  the  matter  of 
furnishings,  and  she  recalled  how  unconsciously  she  had 
been  led  to  make  suggestions  which  he  had  stored  up 
and  acted  upon.  For  the  rest  she  found  her  husband's 
taste  beyond  criticism.  There  were  drapes  and  rugs 
and  prints  and  odds  and  ends  that  any  woman  might 
be  proud  to  have  in  her  home. 

"  You're  an  amazing  sort  of  a  man,  Jack,"  she  said 
thoughtfully.  "  Is  there  anything  you're  not  up  to  ? 
Even  a  Chinese  servant  in  the  kitchen.  It's  perfect." 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  he  said.  "  I  hoped  you 
would." 

"  Who  wouldn't  ?  "  she  cried  impulsively..  "  I  love 
pretty  things.  Wait  till  I  get  done  rearranging." 

They  introduced  themselves  to  the  immobile-featured 
Celestial  when  they  had  jointly  and  severally  inspected 
the  house  from  top  to  bottom.  Sam  Foo  gazed  at  them, 
listened  to  their  account  of  themselves,  and  disappeared. 
He  re-entered  the  room  presently,  bearing  a  package. 

"  Mist'  Choi'  Bentlee  him  leave  foh  yo'." 

Stella  looked  at  it.  On  the  outer  wrapping  was  writ- 
ten: 

From  C.  A.  Benton  to  Mrs.  John  Henderson  Fyfe 
A  Belated  Wedding  Gift 

She  cut  the  string,  and  delved  into  the  cardboard  box, 
and  gasped.  Out  of  a  swathing  of  tissue  paper  her 
hands  bared  sundry  small  articles.  A  little  cap  and 
jacket  of  knitted  silk  —  its  double  in  fine,  fleecy  yarn  — 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED       151 

a  long  silk  coat  —  a  bonnet  to  match, —  both  daintily 
embroidered.  Other  things  —  a  shoal  of  them  —  baby 
things.  A  grin  struggled  for  lodgment  on  Fyfe's 
freckled  countenance.  His  blue  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  growled,  "  that's  Charlie's  idea  of  a 
joke,  huh?" 

Stella  turned  away  from  the  tiny  garments,  one  little 
hood  crumpled  tight  in  her  hand.  She  laid  her  hot 
face  against  his  breast  and  her  shoulders  quivered.  She 
was  crying. 

"  Stella,  Stella,  what's  the  matter?  "  he  whispered. 

"  It's  no  joke,"  she  sobbed.     "  It's  a  —  it's  a  reality." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN    WHICH    EVENTS    MARK    TIME 

From  that  day  on  Stella  found  in  her  hands  the  reins 
over  a  smooth,  frictionless,  well-ordered  existence. 
Sam  Foo  proved  himself  such  a  domestic  treasure  as 
only  the  trained  Oriental  can  be.  When  the  labor  of 
an  eight-room  dwelling  proved  a  little  too  much  for  him, 
he  urbanely  said  so.  Thereupon,  at  Fyfe's  suggestion, 
he  imported  a  fellow  countryman,  another  bland,  silent- 
footed  model  of  efficiency  in  personal  service.  There- 
after Stella's  task  of  supervision  proved  a  sinecure. 

A  week  or  so  after  their  return,  in  sorting  over  some 
of  her  belongings,  she  came  across  the  check  Charlie 
had  given  her:  that  two  hundred  and  seventy  dollars 
which  represented  the  only  money  she  had  ever  earned 
in  her  life.  She  studied  it  a  minute,  then  went  out  to 
where  her  husband  sat  perched  on  the  verandah  rail. 

"  You  might  cash  this,  Jack,"  she  suggested. 

He  glanced  at  the  slip. 

"  Better  have  it  framed  as  a  memento,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  You'll  never  earn  two  hundred  odd  dollars 
so  hard  again,  I  hope.  No,  I'd  keep  it,  if  I  were  you. 
If  ever  you  should  need  it,  it'll  always  be  good  —  un- 
less Charlie  goes  broke." 

There  never  had  been  any  question  of  money  between 


IN   WHICH   EVENTS   MARK   TIME      153 

them.  From  the  day  of  their  marriage  Fyfe  had  made 
her  a  definite  monthly  allowance,  a  greater  sum  than 
she  needed  or  spent. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  went  on,  "  I'm  going  to 
open  an  account  in  your  name  at  the  Royal  Bank,  so 
you  can  negotiate  your  own  paper  and  pay  your  own 
bills  by  check." 

She  went  in  and  put  away  the  check.  It  was  hers, 
earned,  all  too  literally,  in  the  sweat  of  her  brow.  For 
all  that  it  represented  she  had  given  service  threefold. 
If  ever  there  came  a  time  when  that  hunger  for  inde- 
pendence which  had  been  fanned  to  a  flame  in  her 
brother's  kitchen  should  demand  appeasement  —  she 
pulled  herself  up  short  when  she  found  her  mind  run- 
ning upon  such  an  eventuality.  Her  future  was  or- 
dered. She  was  married  —  to  be  a  mother.  Here  lay 
her  home.  All  about  her  ties  were  in  process  of  forma- 
tion, ties  that  with  time  would  grow  stronger  than  any 
shackles  of  steel,  constraining  her  to  walk  in  certain 
ways, —  ways  that  were  pleasant  enough,  certain  of 
ease  if  not  of  definite  purpose. 

Yet  now  and  then  she  found  herself  falling  into  fits  of 
abstraction  in  which  Roaring  Lake  and  Jack  Fyfe,  all 
that  meant  anything  to  her  now,  faded  into  the  back- 
ground, and  she  saw  herself  playing  a  lone  hand  against 
the  world,  making  her  individual  struggle  to  be  some- 
thing more  than  the  petted  companion  of  a  dominant 
male  and  the  mother  of  his  children.  She  never  quite 
lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  marriage  had  been  the  last 
resort,  that  in  effect  she  had  taken  the  avenue  her 
personal  charm  afforded  to  escape  drudgery  and  isola- 


154  BIG   TIMBER 

tion.  There  was  still  deep-rooted  in  her  a  craving  for 
something  bigger  than  mere  ease  of  living.  She  knew 
as  well  as  she  knew  anything  that  in  the  natural  evolu- 
tion of  things  marriage  and  motherhood  should  have 
been  the  big  thing  in  her  life.  And  it  was  not.  It  was 
too  incidental,  too  incomplete,  too  much  like  a  mere 
breathing-place  on  life's  highway.  Sometimes  she 
reasoned  with  herself  bluntly,  instead  of  dreaming,  was 
driven  to  look  facts  in  the  eye  because  she  did  dream. 
Always  she  encountered  the  same  obstacle,  a  feeling  that 
she  had  been  defrauded,  robbed  of  something  vital ;  she 
had  forgone  that  wonderful,  passionate  drawing  to- 
gether which  makes  the  separate  lives  of  the  man  and 
woman  who  experiences  it  so  fuse  that  in  the  truest 
sense  of  the  word  they  become  one. 

Mostly  she  kept  her  mind  from  that  disturbing  intro- 
spection, because  invariably  it  led  her  to  vague  dream- 
ing of  a  future  which  she  told  herself  —  sometimes  wist- 
fully —  could  never  be  realized.  She  had  shut  the  door 
on  many  things,  it  seemed  to  her  now.  But  she  had 
the  sense  to  know  that  dwelling  on  what  might  have 
been  only  served  to  make  her  morbid,  and  did  not  in 
the  least  serve  to  alter  the  unalterable.  She  had  chosen 
what  seemed  to  her  at  the  time  the  least  of  two  evils, 
and  she  meant  to  abide  steadfast  by  her  choice. 

Charlie  Benton  came  to  visit  them.  Strangely 
enough  to  Stella,  who  had  never  seen  him  on  Roaring 
Lake,  at  least,  dressed  otherwise  than  as  his  loggers, 
he  was  sporting  a  natty  gray  suit,  he  was  clean  shaven, 
Oxford  ties  on  his  feet,  a  gentleman  of  leisure  in  his 
garb.  If  he  had  started  on  the  down  grade  the  pre- 


IN   WHICH   EVENTS   MARK   TIME       155 

vious  winter,  he  bore  no  signs  of  it  now,  for  he  was 
the  picture  of  ruddy  vigor,  clear-eyed,  brown-skinned, 
alert,  bubbling  over  with  good  spirits. 

"  Why,  say,  you  look  like  a  tourist,"  Fyfe  remarked 
after  an  appraising  glance. 

"  I'm  making  money,  pulling  ahead  of  the  game,  that's 
all,"  Benton  retorted  cheerfully.  "  I  can  afford  to  take 
a  holiday  now  and  then.  I'm  putting  a  million  feet  a 
month  in  the  water.  That's  going  some  for  small  fry 
like  me.  Say,  this  house  of  yours  is  all  to  the  good, 
Jack.  It's  got  class,  outside  and  in.  Makes  a  man 
feel  as  if  he  had  to  live  up  to  it,  eh?  Mackinaws  and 
calked  boots  don't  go  with  oriental  rugs  and  oak  floors." 
"  You  should  get  a  place  like  this  as  soon  as  possible 
then,"  Stella  put  in  drily,  "  to  keep  you  up  to  the  mark, 
on  edge  aesthetically,  one  might  put  it." 

"  Not  to  say  morally,"  Benton  laughed.  "  Oh, 
maybe  I'll  get  to  it  by  and  by,  if  the  timber  business 
holds  up." 

Later,  when  he  and  Stella  were  alone  together,  he 
said  to  her : 

"  You're  lucky.  You've  got  everything,  and  it  comes 
without  an  effort.  You  sure  showed  good  judgment 
when  you  picked  Jack  Fyfe.  He's  a  thoroughbred." 
"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  returned,  a  touch  of  irony  in 
her  voice,  a  subtlety  of  inflection  that  went  clean  over 
Charlie's  head. 

He  was  full  of  inquiries  about  where  they  had  been 
that  winter,  what  they  had  done  and  seen.  Also  he 
brimmed  over  with  his  own  affairs.  He  stayed  over- 
night and  went  his  way  with  a  brotherly  threat  of 


156  BIG   TIMBER 

making  the  Fyfe  bungalow  his  headquarters  whenever 
he  felt  like  it. 

"  It's  a  touch  of  civilization  that  looks  good  to  me," 
he  declared.  "  You  can  put  my  private  mark  on  one 
of  those  big  leather  chairs,  Jack.  I'm  going  to  use  it 
often.  All  you  need  to  make  this  a  social  center  is  a 
good-looking  girl  or  two  —  unmarried  ones.  You 
watch.  When  the  summer  flock  comes  to  the  lake,  your 
place  is  going  to  be  popular." 

That  observation  verified  Benton's  shrewdness.  The 
Fyfe  bungalow  did  become  popular.  Two  weeks  after 
Charlie's  visit,  a  lean,  white  cruiser,  all  brass  and  ma- 
hogany above  her  topsides,  slid  up  to  the  float,  and 
two  women  came  at  a  dignified  pace  along  the  path  to 
the  house.  Stella  had  met  Linda  Abbey  once,  reluc- 
tantly, under  the  circumstances,  but  it  was  different 
now  —  with  the  difference  that  money  makes.  She 
could  play  hostess  against  an  effective  background,  and 
she  did  so  graciously.  Nor  was  her  graciousness  wholly 
assumed.  After  all,  they  were  her  kind  of  people: 
Linda,  fair-haired,  perfectly  gowned,  perfectly  man- 
nered, sweetly  pretty ;  Mrs.  Abbey,  forty-odd  and  look- 
ing thirty-five,  with  that  calm  self-assurance  which 
wealth  and  position  confer  upon  those  who  hold  it  se- 
curely. Stella  found  them  altogether  to  her  liking.  It 
pleased  her,  too,  that  Jack  happened  in  to  meet  them. 
He  was  not  a  scintillating  talker,  yet  she  had  noticed 
that  when  he  had  anything  to  say,  he  never  failed  to  at- 
tract and  hold  attention.  His  quiet,  impersonal  manner 
never  suggested  stolidness.  And  she  was  too  keen  an  ob- 
server to  overlook  the  fact  that  from  a  purely  physical 


IN    WHICH    EVENTS    MARK   TIME       157 

standpoint  Jack  Fyfe  made  an  impression  always,  par- 
ticularly on  women.  Throughout  that  winter  it  had 
not  disturbed  her.  It  did  not  disturb  her  now,  when 
she  noticed  Linda  Abbey's  gaze  coming  back  to  him  with 
a  veiled  appraisal  in  her  blue  eyes  that  were  so  like 
Fyfe's  own  in  their  tendency  to  twinkle  and  gleam  with 
no  corresponding  play  of  features. 

"  We'll  expect  to  see  a  good  deal  of  you  this  summer," 
Mrs.  Abbey  said  cordially  at  leave-taking.  "  We  have 
a  few  people  up  from  town  now  and  then  to  vary  the 
monotony  of  feasting  our  souls  on  scenery.  Sometimes 
we  are  quite  a  jolly  crowd.  Don't  be  formal.  Drop 
in  when  you  feel  the  inclination." 

When  Stella  reminded  Jack  of  this  some  time  later, 
in  a  moment  of  boredom,  he  put  the  Panther  at  her  dis- 
posal for  the  afternoon.  But  he  would  not  go  himself. 
He  had  opened  up  a  new  outlying  camp,  and  he  had 
directions  to  issue,  work  to  lay  out. 

"You  hold  up  the  social  end  of  the  game,"  he 
laughed.  "  I'll  hustle  logs." 

So  Stella  invaded  the  Abbey-Monohan  precincts  by 
herself  and  en j  oyed  it  —  for  she  met  a  houseful  of 
young  people  from  the  coast,  and  in  that  light-hearted 
company  she  forgot  for  the  time  being  that  she  was 
married  and  the  responsible  mistress  of  a  house.  Paul 
Abbey  was  there,  but  he  had  apparently  forgotten  or 
forgiven  the  blow  she  had  once  dealt  his  vanity.  Paul, 
she  reflected,  was  not  the  sort  to  mourn  a  lost  love  long. 

She  had  the  amused  experience  too  of  beholding 
Charlie  Benton  appear  an  hour  or  so  before  she  de- 
parted and  straightway  monopolize  Linda  Abbey  in  his 


158  BIG   TIMBER 

characteristically  impetuous  fashion.  Charlie  was  no 
diplomat.  He  believed  in  driving  straight  to  any  goal 
he  selected. 

"  So  that's  the  reason  for  the  outward  metamor- 
phosis," Stella  reflected.  "  Well?  " 

Altogether  she  enjoyed  the  afternoon  hugely.  The 
only  fly  in  her  ointment  was  a  greasy  smudge  bestowed 
upon  her  dress  —  a  garment  she  prized  highly  —  by 
some  cordage  coiled  on  the  Panther's  deck.  The  black 
tender  had  carried  too  many  cargoes  of  loggers  and 
logging  supplies  to  be  a  fit  conveyance  for  persons  in 
party  attire.  She  exhibited  the  soiled  gown  to  Fyfe 
with  due  vexation. 

"  I  hope  you'll  have  somebody  scrub  down  the  Panther 
the  next  time  I  want  to  go  anywhere  in  a  decent  dress," 
she  said  ruefully.  "  That'll  never  come  out.  And  it's 
the  prettiest  thing  I've  got  too." 

"  Ah,  what's  the  odds  ? "  Fyfe  slipped  one  arm 
around  her  waist.  "  You  can  buy  more  dresses.  Did 
you  have  a  good  time?  That's  the  thing! " 

That  ruined  gown,  however,  subsequently  produced 
an  able,  forty-foot,  cruising  launch,  powerfully  engined, 
easy  in  a  sea,  and  comfortably,  even  luxuriously  fitted 
as  to  cabin.  With  that  for  their  private  use,  the 
Panther  was  left  to  her  appointed  service,  and  in  the 
new  boat  Fyfe  and  Stella  spent  many  a  day  abroad  on 
Roaring  Lake.  They  fished  together,  explored  nooks 
and  bays  up  and  down  its  forty  miles  of  length,  climbed 
hills  together  like  the  bear  of  the  ancient  rhyme,  to 
see  what  they  could  see.  And  the  Waterbug  served  to 
put  them  on  intimate  terms  with  their  neighbors,  par- 


IN   WHICH   EVENTS   MARK   TIME       159 

ticularly  the  Abbey  crowd.  The  Abbeys  took  to  them 
wholeheartedly.  Fyfe  himself  was  highly  esteemed  by 
the  elder  Abbey,  largely,  Stella  suspected,  for  his  power 
on  Roaring  Lake.  Abbey  pere  had  built  up  a  big  for- 
tune out  of  timber.  He  respected  any  man  who  could 
follow  the  same  path  to  success.  Therefore  he  gave 
Fyfe  double  credit, —  for  making  good,  and  for  a  per- 
sonality that  could  not  be  overlooked.  He  told  Stella 
that  once ;  that  is  to  say,  he  told  her  confidentially  that 
her  husband  was  a  very  "  able  "  young  man.  Abbey 
senior  was  short  and  double-chinned  and  inclined  to 
profuse  perspiration  if  he  moved  in  haste  over  any  ex- 
tended time.  Paul  promised  to  be  like  him,  in  that 
respect. 

Summer  slipped  by.  There  were  dances,  informal 
little  hops  at  the  Abbey  domicile,  return  engagements 
at  the  Fyfe  bungalow,  laughter  and  music  and  Japanese 
lanterns  strung  across  the  lawn.  There  was  tea  and 
tennis  and  murmuring  rivers  of  small  talk.  And  amid 
this  Stella  Fyfe  flitted  graciously,  esteeming  it  her 
world,  a  fair  measure  of  what  the  future  might  be. 
Viewed  in  that  light,  it  seemed  passable  enough. 

Later,  when  summer  was  on  the  wane,  she  withdrew 
from  much  of  this  activity,  spending  those  days  when 
she  did  not  sit  buried  in  a  book  out  on  the  water  with 
her  husband.  When  October  ushered  in  the  first  of  the 
fall  rains,  they  went  to  Vancouver  and  took  apartments. 
In  December  her  son  was  born. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    CLOSE    CALL   AND    A    NEW    ACQUAINTANCE 

With  the  recurrence  of  spring,  Fyfe's  household 
transferred  itself  to  the  Roaring  Lake  bungalow  again. 
Stella  found  the  change  welcome,  for  Vancouver  wearied 
her.  It  was  a  little  too  crude,  too  much  as  yet  in  the 
transitory  stage,  in  that  civic  hobbledehoy  period  which 
overtakes  every  village  that  shoots  up  over-swiftly  to  a 
city's  dimensions.  They  knew  people,  to  be  sure,  for 
the  Abbey  influence  would  have  opened  the  way  for 
them  into  any  circle.  Stella  had  made  many  friends 
and  pleasant  acquaintances  that  summer  on  the  lake, 
but  part  of  that  butterfly  clique  sought  pleasanter 
winter  grounds  before  she  was  fit  for  social  activity. 
Apart  from  a  few  more  or  less  formal  receptions  and 
an  occasional  auction  party,  she  found  it  pleasanter  to 
stay  at  home.  Fyfe  himself  had  spent  only  part  of 
his  time  in  town  after  their  boy  was  born.  He  was 
extending  his  timber  operations.  What  he  did  not  put 
into  words,  but  what  Stella  sensed  because  she  experi- 
enced the  same  thing  herself,  was  that  town  bored  him 
to  death, —  such  town  existence  as  Vancouver  afforded. 
Their  first  winter  had  been  different,  because  they  had 
sought  places  where  there  was  manifold  variety  of 
life,  color,  amusement.  She  was  longing  for  the  wide 


A   CLOSE   CALL  161 

reach  of  Roaring  Lake,  the  immense  amphitheater  of 
the  surrounding  mountains,  long  before  spring. 

So  she  was  quite  as  well  pleased  when  a  mild  April 
saw  them  domiciled  at  home  again.  In  addition  to 
Sam  Foo  and  Feng  Shu,  there  was  a  nurse  for  Jack 
Junior.  Stella  did  not  suggest  that;  Fyfe  insisted  on 
it.  He  was  quite  proud  of  his  boy,  but  he  did  not  want 
her  chained  to  her  baby. 

"  If  the  added  expense  doesn't  count,  of  course  a 
nurse  will  mean  a  lot  more  personal  freedom,"  Stella 
admitted.  "  You  see,  I  haven't  the  least  idea  of  your 
resources,  Jack.  All  I  know  about  it  is  that  you  allow 
me  plenty  of  money  for  my  individual  expenses.  And 
I  notice  we're  acquiring  a  more  expensive  mode  of  liv- 
ing all  the  time." 

"  That's  so,"  Fyfe  responded.  "  I  never  have  gone 
into  any  details  of  my  business  with  you.  No  reason 
why  you  shouldn't  know  what  limits  there  are  to  our 
income.  You  never  happened  to  express  any  curiosity 
before.  Operating  as  I  did  up  till  lately,  the  business 
netted  anywhere  from  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand  a  year. 
I'll  double  that  this  season.  In  fact,  with  the  amount 
of  standing  timber  I  control,  I  could  make  it  fifty  thou- 
sand a  year  by  expanding  and  speeding  things  up.  I 
guess  you  needn't  worry  about  an  extra  servant  or 
two." 

So,  apart  from  voluntary  service  on  behalf  of  Jack 
Junior,  she  was  free  as  of  old  to  order  her  days  as  she 
pleased.  Yet  that  small  morsel  of  humanity  demanded 
much  of  her  time,  because  she  released  through  the 
maternal  floodgates  a  part  of  that  passionate  longing 


162  BIG   TIMBER 

to  bestow  love  where  her  heart  willed.  Sometimes  she 
took  issue  with  herself  over  that  wayward  tendency. 
By  all  the  rules  of  the  game,  she  should  have  loved  her 
husband.  He  was  like  a  rock,  solid,  enduring,  patient, 
kind,  and  generous.  He  stood  to  her  in  the  most  inti- 
mate relation  that  can  exist  between  a  man  and  a 
woman.  But  she  never  fooled  herself;  she  never  had 
so  far  as  Jack  Fyfe  was  concerned.  She  liked  him,  but 
that  was  all.  He  was  good  to  her,  and  she  was  grateful. 

Sometimes  she  had  a  dim  sense  that  under  his  easy- 
going exterior  lurked  a  capacity  for  tremendously  pas- 
sionate outbreak.  If  she  had  been  compelled  to  modify 
her  first  impression  of  him  as  an  arrogant,  dominant 
sort  of  character,  scarcely  less  rough  than  the  brown 
firs  out  of  which  he  was  hewing  a  fortune,  she  knew 
likewise  that  she  had  never  seen  anything  but  the 
sunny  side  of  him.  He  still  puzzled  her  a  little  at  times  ; 
there  were  odd  flashes  of  depths  she  could  not  see  into, 
a  quality  of  unexpectedness  in  things  he  would  do  and 
say.  Even  so,  granting  that  in  him  was  embodied  so 
much  that  other  men  she  knew  lacked,  she  did  not  love 
him ;  there  were  indeed  times  when  she  almost  resented 
him. 

Why,  she  could  not  perhaps  have  put  into  words. 
It  seemed  too  fantastic  for  sober  summing-up,  when 
she  tried.  But  lurking  always  in  the  background  of 
her  thoughts  was  the  ghost  of  an  unrealized  dream,  a 
nebulous  vision  which  once  served  to  thrill  her  in  secret. 
It  could  never  be  anything  but  a  vision,  she  believed 
now,  and  believing,  regretted.  The  cold  facts  of  her 
existence  couldn't  be  daydreamed  away.  She  was  mar- 


A    CLOSE    CALL  163 

ried,  and  marriage  put  a  full  stop  to  the  potential  ad- 
venturing of  youth.  Twenty  and  maidenhood  lies  at 
the  opposite  pole  from  twenty-four  and  matrimony. 
Stella  subscribed  to  that.  She  took  for  her  guiding- 
star  —  theoretically  —  the  twin  concepts  of  morality 
and  duty  as  she  had  been  taught  to  construe  them.  So 
she  saw  no  loophole,  and  seeing  none,  felt  cheated  of 
something  infinitely  precious.  Marriage  and  mother- 
hood had  not  come  to  her  as  the  fruits  of  love,  as  the 
passionately  eager  fulfilling  of  her  destiny.  It  had 
been  thrust  upon  her.  She  had  accepted  it  as  a  last 
resort  at  a  time  when  her  powers  of  resistance  to  mis- 
fortune were  at  the  ebb. 

She  knew  that  this  sort  of  self-communing  was  a  bad 
thing,  that  it  was  bound  to  sour  the  whole  taste  of  life 
in  her  mouth.  As  much  as  possible  she  thrust  aside 
those  vague,  repressed  longings.  Materially  she  had 
everything.  If  she  had  foregone  that  bargain  with 
Jack  Fyfe,  God  only  knew  what  long-drawn  agony  of 
mind  and  body  circumstances  and  Charlie  Benton's 
subordination  of  her  to  his  own  ends  might  have  in- 
flicted upon  her.  That  was  the  reverse  of  her  shield, 
but  one  that  grew  dimmer  as  time  passed.  Mostly,  she 
took  life  as  she  found  it,  concentrating  upon  Jack 
Junior,  a  sturdy  boy  with  blue  eyes  like  his  father,  and 
who  grew  steadily  more  adorable. 

Nevertheless  she  had  recurring  periods  when  moodi- 
ness  and  ill-stifled  discontent  got  hold  of  her.  Some- 
times she  stole  out  along  the  cliffs  to  sit  on  a  mossy 
boulder,  staring  with  absent  eyes  at  the  distant  hills. 
And  sometimes  she  would  slip  out  in  a  canoe,  to  lie 


164  BIG    TIMBER 

rocking  in  the  lake  swell, —  just  dreaming,  filled  with  a 
passive  sort  of  regret.  She  could  not  change  things 
now,  but  she  could  not  help  wishing  she  could. 

Fyfe  warned  her  once  about  getting  offshore  in  the 
canoe.  Roaring  Lake,  pent  in  the  shape  of  a  boome- 
rang between  two  mountain  ranges,  was  subject  to 
squalls.  Sudden  bursts  of  wind  would  shoot  down  its 
length  like  blasts  from  some  monster  funnel.  Stella 
knew  that;  she  had  seen  the  glassy  surface  torn  into 
whitecaps  in  ten  minutes,  but  she  was  not  afraid  of  the 
lake  nor  the  lake  winds.  She  was  hard  and  strong. 
The  open,  the  clean  mountain  air,  and  a  measure  of 
activity,  had  built  her  up  physically.  She  swam  like  a 
seal.  Out  in  that  sixteen-foot  Peterboro  she  could  de- 
tach herself  from  her  world  of  reality,  lie  back  on  a 
cushion,  and  lose  herself  staring  at  the  sky.  She  paid 
little  heed  to  Fyfe's  warning  beyond  a  smiling  assur- 
ance that  she  had  no  intention  of  courting  a  watery  end. 

So  one  day  in  mid- July  she  waved  a  farewell  to  Jack 
Junior,  crowing  in  his  nurse's  lap  on  the  bank,  paddled 
out  past  the  first  point  to  the  north,  and  pillowing  her 
head  on  a  cushioned  thwart,  gave  herself  up  to  dreamy 
contemplation  on  the  sky.  There  was  scarce  a  ripple 
on  the  lake.  A  faint  breath  of  an  offshore  breeze 
fanned  her,  drifting  the  canoe  at  a  snail's  pace  out  from 
land.  Stella  luxuriated  in  the  quiet  afternoon.  A 
party  of  campers  cruising  the  lake  had  tarried  at  the 
bungalow  till  after  midnight.  Jack  Fyfe  had  risen  at 
dawn  to  depart  for  some  distant  logging  point.  Stella, 
once  wakened,  had  risen  and  breakfasted  with  him.  She 
was  tired,  drowsy,  content  to  lie  there  in  pure  physical 


A    CLOSE    CALL  165 

relaxation.  Lying  so,  before  she  was  aware  of  it,  her 
eyes  closed. 

She  wakened  with  a  start  at  a  cold  touch  of  moisture 
on  her  face, —  rain,  great  pattering  drops.  Overhead 
an  ominously  black  cloud  hid  the  face  of  the  sun.  The 
shore,  when  she  looked,  lay  a  mile  and  a  half  abeam. 
To  the  north  and  between  her  and  the  land's  rocky  line 
was  a  darkening  of  the  lake's  surface.  Stella  reached 
for  her  paddle.  The  black  cloud  let  fall  long,  gray 
streamers  of  rain.  There  was  scarcely  a  stirring  of  the 
air,  but  that  did  not  deceive  her.  There  was  a  growing 
chill,  and  there  was  that  broken  line  sweeping  down  the 
lake.  Behind  that  was  wind,  a  summer  gale,  the  black 
squall  dreaded  by  the  Siwashes. 

She  had  to  buck  her  way  to  shore  through  that.  She 
drove  hard  on  the  paddle.  She  was  not  afraid,  but 
there  rose  in  her  a  peculiar  tensed-up  feeling.  Ahead 
lay  a  ticklish  bit  of  business.  The  sixteen-foot  canoe 
dwarfed  to  pitiful  dimensions  in  the  face  of  that  snarl- 
ing line  of  wind-harried  water.  She  could  hear  the 
distant  murmur  of  it  presently,  and  gusty  puffs  of  wind 
began  to  strike  her. 

Then  it  swept  up  to  her,  a  ripple,  a  chop,  and  very 
close  behind  that  the  short,  steep,  lake  combers  with  a 
wind  that  blew  off  the  tops  as  each  wave-head  broke  in 
white,  bubbling  froth.  Immediately  she  began  to  lose 
ground.  She  had  expected  that,  and  it  did  not  alarm 
her.  If  she  could  keep  the  canoe  bow  on,  there  was  an 
even  chance  that  the  squall  would  blow  itself  out  in  half 
an  hour.  But  keeping  the  canoe  bow  on  proved  a  task 
for  stout  arms.  The  wind  would  catch  all  that  forward 


166  BIG   TIMBER 

part  which  thrust  clear  as  she  topped  a  sea  and  twist 
it  aside,  tending  always  to  throw  her  broadside  into 
the  trough.  Spray  began  to  splash  aboard.  The  seas 
were  so  short  and  steep  that  the  Peterboro  would  rise 
over  the  crest  of  a  tall  one  and  dip  its  bow  deep  in  the 
next,  or  leap  clear  to  strike  with  a  slap  that  made 
Stella's  heart  jump.  She  had  never  undergone  quite 
that  rough  and  tumble  experience  in  a  small  craft. 
She  was  being  beaten  farther  out  and  down  the  lake, 
and  her  arms  were  growing  tired.  Nor  was  there  any 
slackening  of  the  wind. 

The  combined  rain  and  slaps  of  spray  soaked  her 
thoroughly.  A  puddle  gathered  about  her  knees  in  the 
bilge,  sloshing  fore  and  aft  as  the  craft  pitched,  kill- 
ing the  natural  buoyancy  of  the  canoe  so  that  she  dove 
harder.  Stella  took  a  chance,  ceased  paddling,  and 
bailed  with  a  small  can.  She  got  a  tossing  that  made 
her  head  swim  while  she  lay  in  the  trough.  And  when 
she  tried  to  head  up  into  it  again,  one  comber  bigger 
than  its  fellows  reared  up  and  slapped  a  barrel  of 
water  inboard.  The  next  wave  swamped  her. 

Sunk  to  the  clamps,  Stella  held  fast  to  the  topsides, 
crouching  on  her  knees,  immersed  to  the  hips  in  water 
that  struck  a  chill  through  her  flesh.  She  had  the  wit 
to  remember  and  act  upon  Jack  Fyfe's  coaching, 
namely,  to  sit  tight  and  hang  on.  No  sea  that  ever 
ran  can  sink  a  canoe.  Wood  is  buoyant.  So  long  as 
she  could  hold  on,  the  submerged  craft  would  keep  her 
head  and  shoulders  above  water.  But  it  was  numbing 
cold.  Fed  by  glacial  streams,  Roaring  Lake  is  icy  in 
hottest  midsummer. 


A   CLOSE   CALL  167 

What  with  paddling  and  bailing  and  the  excitement 
of  the  struggle,  Stella  had  wasted  no  time  gazing  about 
for  other  boats.  She  knew  that  if  any  one  at  the  camp 
saw  her,  rescue  would  be  speedily  effected.  Now,  hold- 
ing fast  and  sitting  quiet,  she  looked  eagerly  about  as 
the  swamped  canoe  rose  loggily  on  each  wave.  Almost 
immediately  she  was  heartened  by  seeing  distinctly  some 
sort  of  craft  plunging  through  the  blow.  She  had  not 
long  to  wait  after  that,  for  the  approaching  launch  was 
a  lean-lined  speeder,  powerfully  engined,  and  she  was 
being  forced.  Stella  supposed  it  was  one  of  the  Abbey 
runabouts.  Even  with  her  teeth  chattering  and  numb- 
ness fastening  itself  upon  her,  she  shivered  at  the 
chances  the  man  was  taking.  It  was  no  sea  for  a  speed 
boat  to  smash  into  at  thirty  miles  an  hour.  She  saw 
it  shoot  off  the  top  of  one  wave  and  disappear  in  a  white 
burst  of  spray,  slash  through  the  next  and  bury  itself 
deep  again,  flinging  a  foamy  cloud  far  to  port  and  star- 
board. Stella  cried  futilely  to  the  man  to  slow  down. 
She  could  hang  on  a  long  time  yet,  but  her  voice  carried 
no  distance. 

After  that  she  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  four  minutes 
the  runabout  was  within  a  hundred  yards,  open  ex- 
hausts cracking  like  a  machine  gun.  And  then  the 
very  thing  she  expected  and  dreaded  came  about. 
Every  moment  she  expected  to  see  him  drive  bows  under 
and  go  down.  Here  and  there  at  intervals  uplifted  a 
comber  taller  than  its  fellows,  standing,  just  as  it 
broke,  like  a  green  wall.  Into  one  such  hoary-headed 
sea  the  white  boat  now  drove  like  a  lance.  Stella  saw 
the  spray  leap  like  a  cascade,  saw  the  solid  green  curl 


i68  BIG   TIMBER 

deep  over  the  forward  deck  and  engine  hatch  and  smash 
the  low  windshield.  She  heard  the  glass  crack.  Im- 
mediately the  roaring  exhausts  died.  Amid  the  whistle 
of  the  wind  and  the  murmur  of  broken  water,  the  launch 
staggered  like  a  drunken  man,  lurched  off  into  the 
trough,  deep  down  by  the  he.ad  with  the  weight  of  water 
she  had  taken. 

The  man  in  her  stood  up  with  hands  cupped  over  his 
mouth. 

"  Can  you  hang  on  a  while  longer  ?  "  he  shouted. 
"  Till  I  can  get  my  boat  bailed?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,"  she  called  back. 

She  saw  him  heave  up  the  engine  hatch.  For  a 
minute  or  two  he  bailed  rapidly.  Then  he  spun  the 
engine,  without  result.  He  straightened  up  at  last, 
stood  irresolute  a  second,  peeled  off  his  coat. 

The  launch  lay  heavily  in  the  trough.  The  canoe, 
rising  and  clinging  on  the  crest  of  each  wave,  was  car- 
ried forward  a  few  feet  at  a  time,  taking  the  run  of  the 
sea  faster  than  the  disabled  motorboat.  So  now  only 
a  hundred-odd  feet  separated  them,  but  they  could 
come  no  nearer,  for  the  canoe  was  abeam  and  slowly 
drifting  past. 

Stella  saw  the  man  stoop  and  stand  up  with  a  coil 
of  line  in  his  hand.  Then  she  gasped,  for  he  stepped 
on  the  coaming  and  plunged  overboard  in  a  beautiful, 
arching  dive.  A  second  later  his  head  showed  glis- 
tening above  the  gray  water,  and  he  swam  toward  her 
with  a  slow,  overhand  stroke.  It  seemed  an  age  — 
although  the  actual  time  was  brief  enough  —  before  he 
reached  her.  She  saw  then  that  there  was  method  in 


A    CLOSE    CALL  169 

his  madness,  for  the  line  strung  out  behind  him,  fast  to  a 
cleat  on  the  launch.  He  laid  hold  of  the  canoe  and 
rested  a  few  seconds,  panting,  smiling  broadly  at  her. 

"  Sorry  that  whopping  wave  put  me  out  of  commis- 
sion," he  said  at  last.  "  I'd  have  had  you  ashore  by 
now.  Hang  on  for  a  minute." 

He  made  the  line  fast  TO  a  thwart  near  the  bow. 
Holding  fast  with  one  hand,  he  drew  the  swamped  canoe 
up  to  the  launch.  In  that  continuous  roll  it  was  no 
easy  task  to  get  Stella  aboard,  but  they  managed  it, 
and  presently  she  sat  shivering  in  the  cockpit,  watching 
the  man  spill  the  water  out  of  the  Peterboro  till  it  rode 
buoyantly  again.  Then  he  went  to  work  at  his  engine 
methodically,  wiping  dry  the  ignition  terminals,  all  the 
various  connections  where  moisture  could  effect  a  short 
circuit.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  he  turned  the 
starting  crank.  The  multiple  cylinders  fired  with  a 
roar. 

He  moved  back  behind  the  wrecked  windshield  where 
the  steering  gear  stood. 

"  Well,  Miss  Ship-wrecked  Mariner,"  said  he  lightly, 
"where  do  you  wish  to  be  landed?  " 

"  Over  there,  if  you  please."  Stella  pointed  to  where 
the  red  roof  of  the  bungalow  stood  out  against  the 
green.  "  I'm  Mrs.  Fyfe." 

"  Ah ! "  said  he.  An  expression  of  veiled  surprise 
flashed  across  his  face.  "  Another  potential  romance 
strangled  at  birth.  You  know,  I  hoped  you  were  some 
local  maiden  before  whom  I  could  pose  as  a  heroic 
rescuer.  Such  is  life.  Odd,  too.  Linda  Abbey  — 
I'm  the  Monohan  tail  to  the  Abbey  business  kite,  you 


170  BIG   TIMBER 

see  —  impressed  me  as  pilot  for  a  spin  this  afternoon 
and  backed  out  at  the  last  moment.  I  think  she 
smelled  this  blow.  So  I  went  out  for  a  ride  by  myself. 
I  was  glowering  at  that  new  house  through  a  glass  when 
I  spied  you  out  in  the  thick  of  it." 

He  had  the  clutch  in  now,  and  the  launch  was  cleav- 
ing the  seas,  even  at  half  speed  throwing  out  wide  wings 
of  spray.  Some  of  this  the  wind  brought  across  the 
cockpit.  "  Come  up  into  this  seat,"  Monohan  com- 
manded. "  I  don't  suppose  you  can  get  any  wetter, 
but  if  you  put  your  feet  through  this  bulkhead  door, 
the  heat  from  the  engine  will  warm  you.  By  Jove, 
you're  fairly  shivering." 

"  It's  lucky  for  me  you  happened  along,"  Stella  re- 
marked, when  she  was  ensconced  behind  the  bulkhead. 
"  I  was  getting  so  cold.  I  don't  know  how  much  longer 
I  could  have  stood  it." 

"  Thank  the  good  glasses  that  picked  you  out.  You 
were  only  a  speck  on  the  water,  you  know,  when  I 
sighted  you  first." 

He  kept  silent  after  that.  All  his  faculties  were 
centered  on  the  seas  ahead  which  rolled  up  before  the 
sharp  cutwater  of  the  launch.  He  was  making  time 
and  still  trying  to  avoid  boarding  seas.  When  a  big 
one  lifted  ahead,  he  slowed  down.  He  kept  one  hand 
on  the  throttle  control,  whistling  under  his  breath  dis- 
connected snatches  of  song.  Stella  studied  his  profile, 
clean-cut  as  a  cameo  and  wholly  pleasing.  He  was 
almost  as  big-bodied  as  Jack  Fyfe,  and  full  four  inches 
taller.  The  wet  shirt  clinging  close  to  his  body  out- 
lined well-knit  shoulders,  ropy-muscled  arms.  He  could 


A   CLOSE   CALL  171 

easily  have  posed  for  a  Viking,  so  strikingly  blond  was 
he,  with  fair,  curly  hair.  She  judged  that  he  might 
be  around  thirty,  yet  his  face  was  altogether  boyish. 

Sitting  there  beside  him,  shivering  in  her  wet  clothes, 
she  found  herself  wondering  what  magnetic  quality 
there  could  be  about  a  man  that  focussed  a  woman's 
attention  upon  him  whether  she  willed  it  or  no.  Why 
should  she  feel  an  oddly-disturbing  thrill  at  the  mere 
physical  nearness  of  this  fair-haired  stranger?  She 
did.  There  was  no  debating  that.  And  she  wondered 

—  wondered  if  a  bolt  of  that  lightning  she  had  dreaded 
ever  since  her  marriage  was  about  to  strike  her  now. 
She  hoped  not.     All  her  emotions  had  lain  fallow.     If 
Jack  Fyfe  had  no  power  to  stir  her, —  and  she  told 
herself  Jack  had  so  failed,  without  asking  herself  why, 

—  then  some  other  man  might  easily  accomplish  that, 
to  her  unutterable  grief.     She  had  told  herself  many  a 
time  that  no  more  terrible  plight  could  overtake  her 
than  to  love  and  be  loved  and  sit  with  hands  folded, 
foregoing  it  all.     She  shrank  from  so  tragic  an  evolu- 
tion.    It  meant  only  pain,  the  ache  of  unfulfilled,  un- 
attainable desires.     If,  she  reflected  cynically,  this  man 
beside  her  stood  for  such  a  motif  in  her  life,  he  might 
better  have  left  her  out  in  the  swamped  canoe. 

While  she  sat  there,  drawn-faced  with  the  cold,  think- 
ing rather  amazedly  these  things  which  she  told  herself 
she  had  no  right  to  think,  the  launch  slipped  into  the 
quiet  nook  of  Cougar  Bay  and  slowed  down  to  the  float. 

Monohan  helped  her  out,  threw  off  the  canoe's 
painter,  and  climbed  back  into  the  launch. 

"  You're  as  wet  as  I  am,"  Stella  said.     "  Won't  you 


172  BIG   TIMBER 

come  up  to  the  house  and  get  a  change  of  clothes?  I 
haven't  even  thanked  you." 

"  Nothing  to  be  thanked  for,"  he  smiled  up  at  her. 
"  Only  please  remember  not  to  get  offshore  in  a  canoe 
again.  I  mightn't  be  handy  the  next  time  — and  Roar- 
ing Lake's  as  fickle  as  your  charming  sex.  All  smiles 
one  minute,  storming  the  next.  No,  I  won't  stay  this 
time,  thanks.  A  little  wet  won't  hurt  me.  I  wasn't 
in  the  water  long  enough  to  get  chilled,  you  know.  I'll 
be  home  in  half  an  hour.  Run  along  and  get  dressed, 
Mrs.  Fyfe,  and  drink  something  hot  to  drive  that  chill 
away.  Good-by." 

Stella  went  up  to  the  house,  her  hand  tingling  with 
his  parting  grip.  Over  and  above  the  peril  she  had 
escaped  rose  an  uneasy  vision  of  a  greater  peril  to  her 
peace  of  mind.  The  platitudes  of  soul-affinity,  of  ir- 
resistible magnetic  attraction,  of  love  that  leaped  full- 
blown into  reality  at  the  touch  of  a  hand  or  the  glance 
of  an  eye,  she  had  always  viewed  with  distrust,  holding 
them  the  weaknesses  of  weak,  volatile  natures.  But 
there  was  something  about  this  man  which  had  stirred 
her,  nothing  that  he  said  or  did,  merely  some  elusive, 
personal  attribute.  She  had  never  undergone  any 
such  experience,  and  she  puzzled  over  it  now.  A  chance 
stranger,  and  his  touch  could  make  her  pulse  leap.  It 
filled  her  with  astonished  dismay. 

Afterward,  dry-clad  and  warm,  sitting  in  her  pet 
chair,  Jack  Junior  cooing  at  her  from  a  nest  among 
cushions  on  the  floor,  the  natural  reaction  set  in,  and 
she  laughed  at  herself.  When  Fyfe  came  home,  she 
told  him  lightly  of  her  rescue. 


A    CLOSE    CALL  173 

He  said  nothing  at  first,  only  sat  drumming  on  his 
chair-arm,  his  eyes  steady  on  her. 

"  That  might  have  cost  you  your  life,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  Will  you  remember  not  to  drift  offshore 
again  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  I  shall,"  she  responded.  "  It  wasn't 
a  pleasant  experience." 

"  Monohan,  eh  ?  "  he  remarked  after  another  inter- 
val. "  So  he's  on  Roaring  Lake  again." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  briefly. 

For  a  minute  or  so  longer  he  sat  there,  his  face  wear- 
ing its  habitual  impassiveness.  Then  he  got  up,  kissed 
her  with  a  queer  sort  of  intensity,  and  went  out.  Stella 
gazed  after  him,  mildly  surprised.  It  wasn't  quite  in 
his  usual  manner. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    KESUKKECTION 

It  might  have  been  a  week  or  so  later  that  Stella 
made  a  discovery  which  profoundly  affected  the  whole 
current  of  her  thought.  The  long  twilight  was  just 
beginning.  She  was  curled  on  the  living-room  floor, 
playing  with  the  baby.  Fyfe  and  Charlie  Benton  sat 
by  a  window,  smoking,  conversing,  as  they  frequently 
did,  upon  certain  phases  of  the  timber  industry.  A 
draft  from  an  open  window  fluttered  some  sheet  music 
down  off  the  piano  rack,  and  Stella  rescued  it  from 
Jack  Junior's  tiny,  clawing  hands.  Some  of  the 
Abbeys  had  been  there  the  evening  before.  One  bit 
of  music  was  a  song  Linda  had  tried  to  sing  and  given 
up  because  it  soared  above  her  vocal  range.  Stella 
rose  to  put  up  the  music.  Without  any  premeditated 
idea  of  playing,  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began 
to  run  over  the  accompaniment.  She  could  play 
passably. 

"  That  doesn't  seem  so  very  hard,"  she  thought 
aloud.  Benton  turned  at  sound  of  her  words. 

"  Say,  did  you  never  get  any  part  of  your  voice 
back,  Stell? "  he  asked.  "  I  never  hear  you  try  to 
sing." 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  I  tried  and  tried  long  after 


A   RESURRECTION  175 

you  left  home,  but  it  was  always  the  same  old  story. 
I  haven't  sung  a  note  in  five  years." 

"  Linda  fell  down  hard  on  that  song  last  night,"  he 
went  on.  "  There  was  a  time  when  that  wouldn't  have 
been  a  starter  for  you,  eh?  Did  you  know  Stella  used 
to  warble  like  a  prima  donna,  Jack  ?  " 

Fyfe  shook  his  head. 

"  Fact.  The  governor  spent  a  pot  of  money  culti- 
vating her  voice.  It  was  some  voice,  too.  She  — " 

He  broke  off  to  listen.  Stella  was  humming  the 
words  of  the  song,  her  fingers  picking  at  the  melody 
instead  of  the  accompaniment. 

"  Why,  you  can,"  Benton  cried. 

"  Can  what?  "     She  turned  on  the  stool. 

"  Sing,  of  course.  You  got  that  high  trill  that 
Linda  had  to  screech  through.  You  got  it  perfectly, 
without  effort." 

"  I  didn't,"  she  returned.  "  Why,  I  wasn't  singing, 
just  humming  it  over." 

"  You  let  out  a  link  or  two  on  those  high  notes  just 
the  same,  whether  you  knew  you  were  doing  it  or  not," 
her  brother  returned  impatiently.  "  Go  on.  Turn 
yourself  loose.  Sing  that  song." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't,"  Stella  said  ruefuUy.  "  I  haven't 
tried  for  so  long.  It's  no  use.  My  voice  always 
cracks,  and  I  want  to  cry." 

"  Crack  fiddlesticks !  "  Benton  retorted.  "  I  know 
what  it  used  to  be.  Believe  me,  it  sounded  natural, 
even  if  you  were  just  lilting.  Here." 

He  came  over  to  the  piano  and  playfully  edged  her 
off  the  stool. 


176  BIG   TIMBER 

"  I'm  pretty  rusty,"  he  said.  "  But  I  can  fake  what 
I  can't  play  of  this.  It's  simple  enough.  You  stand 
up  there  and  sing." 

She  only  stood  looking  at  him. 

"  Go  on,"  he  commanded.  "  I  believe  you  can  sing 
anything.  You  have  to  show  me,  if  you  can't." 

Stella  fingered  the  sheets  reluctantly.  Then  she 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  began. 

It  was  not  a  difficult  selection,  merely  a  bit  from  a 
current  light  opera,  with  a  closing  passage  that  ranged 
a  trifle  too  high  for  the  ordinary  untrained  voice  to  take 
with  ease.  Stella  sang  it  effortlessly,  the  last  high, 
trilling  notes  pouring  out  as  sweet  and  clear  as  the 
carol  of  a  lark.  Benton  struck  the  closing  chord  and 
looked  up  at  her.  Fyfe  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 
Jack  Junior,  among  his  pillows  on  the  floor,  waved  his 
arms,  kicking  and  gurgling. 

"  You  did  pretty  well  on  that,"  Charlie  remarked 
complacently.  "  Now  sing  something.  Got  any  of 
your  old  pieces  ?  " 

"I  wonder  if  I  could?"  Stella  murmured.  "I'm 
almost  afraid  to  try." 

She  hurried  away  to  some  outlying  part  of  the  house, 
reappearing  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  dog-eared  bundle 
of  sheets  in  her  hand.  From  among  these  she  selected 
three  and  set  them  on  the  rack. 

Benton  whistled  when  he  glanced  over  the  music. 

"  The  Siren  Song,"  he  grunted.  "  What  is  it  ? 
something  new?  Lord,  look  at  the  scale.  Looks  like 
one  of  those  screaming  arias  from  the  *  Flying  Dutch- 
man.' Some  stunt." 


A    RESURRECTION  177 

"  Marchand  composed  it  for  the  express  purpose  of 
trying  out  voices,"  Stella  said.  "  It  is  a  stunt." 

"  You'll  have  to  play  your  own  accompaniment," 
Charlie  grinned.  "  That's  too  much  for  me." 

"  Oh,  just  so  you  give  me  a  little  support  here  and 
there,"  Stella  told  him.  "  I  can't  sing  sitting  on  a 
piano  stool." 

Benton  made  a  face  at  the  music  and  struck  the  keys. 

It  seemed  to  Stella  nothing  short  of  a  miracle.  She 
had  been  mute  so  long.  She  had  almost  forgotten  what 
a  tragedy  losing  her  voice  had  been.  And  to  find  it 
again,  to  hear  it  ring  like  a  trumpet.  It  did !  It  was 
too  big  for  the  room.  She  felt  herself  caught  up  in  a 
triumphant  ecstasy  as  she  sang.  She  found  herself 
blinking  as  the  last  note  died  away.  Her  brother 
twisted  about  on  the  piano  stool,  fumbling  for  a 
cigarette. 

"  And  still  they  say  they  can't  come  back,"  he  re- 
marked at  last.  "  Why,  you're  better  than  you  ever 
were,  Stella.  You've  got  the  old  sweetness  and  flexi- 
bility that  dad  used  to  rave  about.  But  your  voice  is 
bigger,  somehow  different.  It  gets  under  a  man's 
skin." 

She  picked  up  the  baby  from  the  floor,  began  to  play 
with  him.  She  didn't  want  to  talk.  She  wanted  to 
think,  to  gloat  over  and  hug  to  herself  this  miracle  of 
her  restored  voice.  She  was  very  quiet,  very  much 
absorbed  in  her  own  reflections  until  it  was  time  —  very 
shortly  —  to  put  Jack  Junior  in  his  bed.  That  was  a 
function  she  made  wholly  her  own.  The  nurse  might 
greet  his  waking  whimper  in  the  morning  and  minister 


178  BIG   TIMBER 

to  his  wants  throughout  the  day,  but  Stella  "  tucked 
him  in  "  his  crib  every  night.  And  after  the  blue  eyes 
were  closed,  she  sat  there,  very  still,  thinking.  In  a 
detached  way  she  was  conscious  of  hearing  Charlie 
leave. 

Later,  when  she  was  sitting  beside  her  dressing  table 
brushing  her  hair,  Fyfe  came  in.  He  perched  himself 
on  the  foot  rail  of  the  bed,  looking  silently  at  her.  She 
had  long  grown  used  to  that.  It  was  a  familiar  trick 
of  his. 

"  How  did  it  happen  that  you've  never  tried  your 
voice  lately  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  time. 

"  I  gave  it  up  long  ago,"  she  said.  "  Didn't  I  ever 
tell  you  that  I  used  to  sing  and  lost  my  voice  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  Charlie  did  just  now.  You 
rather  took  my  breath  away.  It's  wonderful.  You'd 
be  a  sensation  in  opera." 

"  I  might  have  been,"  she  corrected.  "  That  was 
one  of  my  little  dreams.  You  don't  know  what  a  grief 
it  was  to  me  when  I  got  over  that  throat  trouble  and 
found  I  couldn't  sing.  I  used  to  try  and  try  —  and 
my  voice  would  break  every  time.  I  lost  all  heart  to 
try  after  a  while..  That  was  when  I  wanted  to  take  up 
nursing,  and  they  wouldn't  let  me.  I  haven't  thought 
about  singing  for  an  age.  I've  crooned  lullabies  to 
Jacky  without  remembering  that  I  once  had  volume 
enough  to  drown  out  an  accompanist.  Dad  was 
awfully  proud  of  my  voice." 

"  You've  reason  to  be  proud  of  it  now,"  Fyfe  said 
slowly.  "  It's  a  voice  in  ten  thousand.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 


A   RESURRECTION  179 

Stella  drew  the  brush  mechanically  through  her 
heavy  hair.  She  had  been  asking  herself  that.  What 
could  she  do?  A  long  road  and  a  hard  one  lay  ahead 
of  her  or  any  other  woman  who  essayed  to  make  her 
voice  the  basis  of  a  career.  Over  and  above  that  she 
was  not  free  to  seek  such  a  career.  Fyfe  himself  knew 
that,  and  it  irritated  her  that  he  should  ask  such  a 
question.  She  swung  about  on  him. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  a  trifle  tartly.  "  How  can  I  ? 
Granting  that  my  voice  is  worth  the  trouble,  would  you 
like  me  to  go  and  study  in  the  East  or  abroad?  Would 
you  be  willing  to  bear  the  expense  of  such  an  under- 
taking? To  have  me  leave  Jack  to  nursemaids  and 
you  to  your  logs?  " 

"  So  that  in  the  fullness  of  time  I  might  secure  a  little 
reflected  glory  as  the  husband  of  Madame  Fyfe,  the 
famous  soprano,"  he  replied  slowly.  "  Well,  I  can't 
say  that's  a  particularly  pleasing  prospect." 

"  Then  why  ask  me  what  I'm  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 
she  flung  back  impatiently.  "  It'll  be  an  asset  —  like 
my  looks  —  and  —  and  — " 

She  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands,  choking  back  an 
involuntary  sob.  Fyfe  crossed  the  room  at  a  bound, 
put  his  arms  around  her. 

"Stella,  Stella!"  he  cried  sharply.  "Don't  be  a 
fool." 

"  D  —  don't  be  cross,  Jack,"  she  whispered. 
"  Please.  I'm  sorry.  I  simply  can't  help  it.  You 
don't  understand." 

"Oh,  don't  I?"  he  said  savagely.  "I  understand 
too  well ;  that's  the  devil  of  it.  But  I  suppose  that's  a 


i8o  BIG    TIMBER 

woman's  way, —  to  feed  her  soul  with  illusions,  and  let 
the  realities  go  hang.  Look  here." 

He  caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  pulled  her  to  her 
feet,  facing  him.  There  was  a  fire  in  his  eye,  a  hard 
shutting  together  of  his  lips  that  frightened  her  a  little. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  roughly.  "  Take  a  brace, 
Stella.  Do  you  realize  what  sort  of  a  state  of  mind 
you're  drifting  into?  You  married  me  under  more  or 
less  compulsion, —  compulsion  of  circumstances, —  and 
gradually  you're  beginning  to  get  dissatisfied,  to  pity 
yourself.  You'll  precipitate  things  you  maybe  don't 
dream  of  now,  if  you  keep  on.  Damn  it,  I  didn't  create 
the  circumstances.  I  only  showed  you  a  way  out. 
You  took  it.  It  satisfied  you  for  a  while;  you  can't 
deny  it  did.  But  it  doesn't  any  more.  You're  nursing 
a  lot  of  illusions,  Stella,  that  are  going  to  make  your 
life  full  of  misery." 

"  I'm  not,"  she  sobbed.  "  It's  because  I  haven't  any 
illusions  that  —  that  —  Oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking, 
Jack?  I'm  not  complaining.  I  don't  even  know  what 
gave  me  this  black  mood,  just  now.  I  suppose  that 
queer  miracle  of  my  voice  coming  back  upset  me.  I 
feel  —  well,  as  if  I  were  a  different  person,  somehow ; 
as  if  I  had  forfeited  any  right  to  have  it.  Oh,  it's  silly, 
you'll  say.  But  it's  there.  I  can't  help  my  feeling  — 
or  my  lack  of  it." 

Fyfe's  face  whitened  a  little.  His  hands  dropped 
from  her  shoulders. 

"  Now  you're  talking  to  the  point,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Especially  that  last.  We've  been  married  some  little 
time  now,  and  if  anything,  we're  farther  apart  in  the 


A   RESURRECTION  181 

essentials  of  mating  than  we  were  at  the  beginning. 
You've  committed  yourself  to  an  undertaking,  yet  more 
and  more  you  encourage  yourself  to  wish  for  the  moon. 
If  you  don't  stop  dreaming  and  try  real  living,  don't 
you  see  a  lot  of  trouble  ahead  for  yourself?  It's 
simple.  You're  slowly  hardening  yourself  against  me, 
beginning  to  resent  my  being  a  factor  in  your  life.  It's 
only  a  matter  of  time,  if  you  keep  on,  until  your  emo- 
tions center  about  some  other  man." 

"  Why  do  you  talk  like  that?  "  she  said  bitterly. 
"  Do  you  think  I've  got  neither  pride  nor  self-respect?  " 

"  Yes.  Both  a-plenty,"  he  answered.  "  But  you're 
a  woman,  with  a  rather  complex  nature  even  for  your 
sex.  If  your  heart  and  your  head  ever  clash  over  any- 
thing like  that,  you'll  be  in  perfect  hell  until  one  or  the 
other  gets  the  upper  hand.  You're  a  thoroughbred, 
and  high-strung  as  thoroughbreds  are.  It  takes  some- 
thing besides  three  meals  a  day  and  plenty  of  good 
clothes  to  complete  your  existence.  If  I  can't  make 
it  complete,  some  other  man  will  make  you  think  he  can. 
Why  don't  you  try?  Haven't  I  got  any  possibilities 
as  a  lover?  Can't  you  throw  a  little  halo  of  romance 
about  me,  for  your  own  sake  —  if  not  for  mine?  " 

He  drew  her  up  close  to  him,  stroking  tenderly  the 
glossy  brown  hair  that  flowed  about  her  shoulders. 

"  Try  it,  Stella,"  he  whispered  passionately.  "  Try 
wanting  to  like  me,  for  a  change.  I  can't  make  love  by 
myself.  Shake  off  that  infernal  apathy  that's  taking 
possession  of  you  where  I'm  concerned.  If  you  can't 
love  me,  for  God's  sake  fight  with  me.  Do  something!  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    CRISIS 

Looking  back  at  that  evening  as  the  summer  wore 
on,  Stella  perceived  that  it  was  the  starting  point  of 
many  things,  no  one  of  them  definitely  outstanding  by 
itself  but  bulking  large  as  a  whole.  Fyfe  made  his  ap- 
peal, and  it  left  her  unmoved  save  in  certain  super- 
ficial aspects.  She  was  sorry,  but  she  was  mostly  sorry 
for  herself.  And  she  denied  his  premonition  of  dis- 
aster. If,  she  said  to  herself,  they  got  no  raptures  out 
of  life,  at  least  they  got  along  without  friction.  In 
her  mind  their  marriage,  no  matter  that  it  lacked  what 
she  no  less  than  Fyfe  deemed  an  essential  to  happiness, 
was  a  fixed  state,  final,  irrevocable,  not  to  be  altered  by 
any  emotional  vagaries. 

No  man,  she  told  herself,  could  make  her  forget  her 
iduty.  If  it  should  befall  that  her  heart,  lacking  safe 
anchorage,  went  astray,  that  would  be  her  personal 
cross  —  not  Jack  Fyfe's.  He  should  never  know. 
One  might  feel  deeply  without  being  moved  to  act  upon 
one's  feelings.  So  she  assured  herself. 

She  never  dreamed  that  Jack  Fyfe  could  possibly 
have  foreseen  in  Walter  Monohan  a  dangerous  factor 
in  their  lives.  A  man  is  not  supposed  to  have  uncanny 
intuitions,  even  when  his  wife  is  a  wonderfully  attractive 


THE   CRISIS  183 

woman  who  does  not  care  for  him  except  in  a  friendly 
sort  of  way.  Stella  herself  had  ample  warning.  From 
the  first  time  of  meeting,  the  man's  presence  affected 
her  strangely,  made  an  appeal  to  her  that  no  man  had 
ever  made.  She  felt  it  sitting  beside  him  in  the  plung- 
ing launch  that  day  when  Roaring  Lake  reached  its 
watery  arms  for  her.  There  was  seldom  a  time  when 
they  were  together  that  she  did  not  feel  it.  And  she 
pitted  her  will  against  it,  as  something  to  be  conquered 
and  crushed. 

There  was  no  denying  the  man's  personal  charm  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  He  was  virile,  hand- 
some, cultured,  just  such  a  man  as  she  could  easily  have 
centered  her  heart  upon  in  times  past, —  just  such  a 
man  as  can  set  a  woman's  heart  thrilling  when  he  lays 
siege  to  her.  If  he  had  made  an  open  bid  for  Stella's 
affection,  she,  entrenched  behind  all  the  accepted  canons 
of  her  upbringing,  would  have  recoiled  from  him,  viewed 
him  with  wholly  distrustful  eyes. 

But  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  was  a  friend, 
or  at  least  he  became  so.  Inevitably  they  were  thrown 
much  together.  There  was  a  continual  informal  run- 
ning back  and  forth  between  Fyfe's  place  and  Abbey's. 
Monohan  was  a  lily  of  the  field,  although  it  was  common 
knowledge  on  Roaring  Lake  that  he  was  a  heavy  stock- 
holder in  the  Abbey-Monohan  combination.  At  any 
rate,  he  was  holidaying  on  the  lake  that  summer. 
There  had  grown  up  a  genuine  intimacy  between  Linda 
and  Stella.  There  were  always  people  at  the  Abbeys' ; 
sometimes  a  few  guests  at  the  Fyfe  bungalow.  Stella's 
marvellous  voice  served  to  heighten  her  popularity. 


184  BIG    TIMBER 

The  net  result  of  it  all  was  that  in  the  following  three 
months  scarce  three  days  went  by  that  she  did  not  con- 
verse with  Monohan. 

She  could  not  help  making  comparisons  between  the 
two  men.  They  stood  out  in  marked  contrast,  in  man- 
ner, physique,  in  everything.  Where  Fyfe  was  reserved 
almost  to  taciturnity,  impassive-featured,  save  for  that 
whimsical  gleam  that  was  never  wholly  absent  from  his 
keen  blue  eyes,  Monohan  talked  with  facile  ease,  with 
wonderful  expressiveness  of  face.  He  was  a  finished 
product  of  courteous  generations.  Moreover,  he  had 
been  everywhere,  done  a  little  of  everything,  acquired  in 
his  manner  something  of  the  versatility  of  his  experi- 
ence. Physically  he  was  fit  as  any  logger  in  the  camps, 
a  big,  active-bodied,  clear-eyed,  ruddy  man. 

What  it  was  about  him  that  stirred  her  so,  Stella 
could  never  determine.  She  knew  beyond  peradventure 
that  he  had  that  power.  He  had  the  gift  of  quick, 
sympathetic  perception, —  but  so  too  had  Jack  Fyfe, 
she  reminded  herself.  Yet  no  tone  of  Jack  Fyfe's  voice 
could  raise  a  flutter  in  her  breast,  make  a  faint  flush 
glow  in  her  cheeks,  while  Monohan  could  do  that.  He 
did  not  need  to  be  actively  attentive.  It  was  only 
necessary  for  him  to  be  near. 

It  dawned  upon  Stella  Fyfe  in  the  fullness  of  the 
season,  when  the  first  cool  October  days  were  upon 
them,  and  the  lake  shores  flamed  again  with  the  red 
and  yellow  and  umber  of  autumn,  that  she  had  been 
playing  with  fire  —  and  that  fire  burns. 

This  did  not  filter  into  her  consciousness  by  degrees. 
She  had  steeled  herself  to  seeing  him  pass  away  with 


THE   CRISIS  185 

the  rest  of  the  summer  folk,  to  take  himself  out  of  her 
life.  She  admitted  that  there  would  be  a  gap.  But 
that  had  to  be.  No  word  other  than  friendly  ones 
would  ever  pass  between  them.  He  would  go  away, 
and  she  would  go  on  as  before.  That  was  all.  She 
was  scarcely  aware  how  far  they  had  traveled  along 
that  road  whereon  travelers  converse  by  glance  of  eye, 
by  subtle  intuitions,  eloquent  silences.  Monohan  him- 
self delivered  the  shock  that  awakened  her  to  despairing 
clearness  of  vision. 

He  had  come  to  bring  her  a  book,  he  and  Linda 
Abbey  and  Charlie  together, —  a  commonplace  enough 
little  courtesy.  And  it  happened  that  this  day  Fyfe 
had  taken  his  rifle  and  vanished  into  the  woods  im- 
mediately after  luncheon.  Between  Linda  Abbey  and 
Charlie  Benton  matters  had  so  far  progressed  that 
it  was  now  the  most  natural  thing  for  them  to  seek 
a  corner  or  poke  along  the  beach  together,  oblivious 
to  all  but  themselves.  This  afternoon  they  chatted 
a  while  with  Stella  and  then  gradually  detached  them- 
selves until  Monohan,  glancing  through  the  window, 
pointed  them  out  to  his  hostess.  They  were  seated 
on  a  log  at  the  edge  of  the  lawn,  a  stone's  throw  from 
the  house. 

"  They're  getting  on,"  he  said.  "  Lucky  beggars. 
It's  all  plain  sailing  for  them." 

There  was  a  note  of  infinite  regret  in  his  voice,  a 
sadness  that  stabbed  Stella  Fyfe  like  a  lance.  She 
did  not  dare  look  at  him.  Something  rose  chokingly 
in  her  throat.  She  felt  and  fought  against  a  slow  well- 
ing of  tears  to  her  eyes.  Before  she  sensed  that  she 


i86  BIG   TIMBER 

was  betraying  herself,  Monohan  was  holding  both  her 
hands  fast  between  his  own,  gripping  them  with  a  fierce, 
insistent  pressure,  speaking  in  a  passionate  undertone. 

"  Why  should  we  have  to  beat  our  heads  against  a 
stone  wall  like  this  ?  "  he  was  saying  wildly.  "  Why 
couldn't  we  have  met  and  loved  and  been  happy,  as  we 
could  have  been?  It  was  fated  to  happen.  I  felt  it 
that  day  I  dragged  you  out  of  the  lake.  It's  been 
growing  on  me  ever  since.  I've  struggled  against  it, 
and  it's  no  use.  It's  something  stronger  than  I  am. 
I  love  you,  Stella,  and  it  maddens  me  to  see  you  chafing 
in  your  chains.  Oh,  my  dear,  why  couldn't  it  have  been 
different?" 

"  You  mustn't  talk  like  that,"  she  protested  weakly. 
"  You  mustn't.  It  isn't  right." 

"  I  suppose  it's  right  for  you  to  live  with  a  man  you 
don't  love,  when  your  heart's  crying  out  against  it  ?  " 
he  broke  out.  "  My  God,  do  you  think  I  can't  see  ?  I 
don't  have  to  see  things;  I  can  feel  them.  I  know 
you're  the  kind  of  woman  who  goes  through  hell  for 
her  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong.  I  honor  you  for 
that,  dear.  But,  oh,  the  pity  of  it.  Why  should  it 
have  to  be?  Life  could  have  held  so  much  that  is  fine 
and  true  for  you  and  me  together.  For  you  do  care, 
don't  you?" 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  "  she  whispered. 
"What  difference  can  it  make?  Oh,  you  mustn't  tell 
me  these  things,  I  mustn't  listen.  I  mustn't." 

"  But  they're  terribly,  tragically  true,"  Monohan 
returned.  "  Look  at  me,  Stella.  Don't  turn  your  face 
away,  dear.  I  wouldn't  do  anything  that  might  bring 


THE   CRISIS  187 

the  least  shadow  on  you.  I  know  the  pitiful  hopeless- 
ness of  it.  You're  fettered,  and  there's  no  apparent 
loophole  to  freedom.  I  know  it's  best  for  me  to  keep 
this  locked  tight  in  my  heart,  as  something  precious 
and  sorrowful.  I  never  meant  to  tell  you.  But  the 
flesh  isn't  always  equal  to  the  task  the  spirit  imposes." 

She  did  not  answer  him  immediately,  for  she  was 
struggling  for  a  grip  on  herself,  fighting  back  an  im- 
pulse to  lay  her  head  against  him  and  cry  her  agony  out 
on  his  breast.  All  the  resources  of  will  that  she  pos- 
sessed she  called  upon  now  to  still  that  tumult  of  emo- 
tion that  racked  her.  When  she  did  speak,  it  was  in  a 
hard,  strained  tone.  But  she  faced  the  issue  squarely, 
knowing  beyond  all  doubt  what  she  had  to  face. 

"  Whether  I  care  or  not  isn't  the  question,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  neither  little  enough  nor  prudish  enough  to  deny 
a  feeling  that's  big  and  clean.  I  see  no  shame  in  that. 
I'm  afraid  of  it  —  if  you  can  understand  that.  But 
that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I  know  what  I  have  to 
do.  I  married  without  love,  with  my  eyes  wide  open, 
and  I  have  to  pay  the  price.  So  you  must  never  talk 
to  me  of  love.  You  mustn't  even  see  me,  if  it  can  be 
avoided.  It's  better  that  way.  We  can't  make  over 
our  lives  to  suit  ourselves  —  at  least  I  can't.  I  must 
play  the  game  according  to  the  only  rules  I  know.  We 
daren't  —  we  mustn't  trifle  with  this  sort  of  a  feeling. 
With  you  —  footloose,  and  all  the  world  before  you  — 
it'll  die  out  presently." 

"  No,"  he  flared.  "  I  deny  that.  I'm  not  an  im- 
pressionable boy.  I  know  myself." 

He  paused,  and  the  grip  of  his  hands  on  hers  tight- 


i88  BIG   TIMBER 

ened  till  the  pain  of  it  ran  to  her  elbows.  Then  his 
fingers  relaxed  a  little. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  he  said  haltingly.  "  I  know  it's  got 
to  be  that  way.  I  have  to  go  my  road  and  leave  you  to 
yours.  Oh,  the  blank  hopelessness  of  it,  the  useless 
misery  of  it.  We're  made  for  each  other,  and  we  have 
to  grin  and  say  good-by,  go  along  our  separate  ways, 
trying  to  smile.  What  a  devilish  state  of  affairs !  But 
I  love  you,  dear,  and  no  matter  —  I  —  ah  — " 

His  voice  flattened  out.  His  hands  released  hers,  he 
straightened  quickly.  Stella  turned  her  head.  Jack 
Fyfe  stood  in  the  doorway.  His  face  was  fixed  in  its 
habitual  mask.  He  was  biting  the  end  off  a  cigar.  He 
struck  a  match  and  put  it  to  the  cigar  end  with  steady 
fingers  as  he  walked  slowly  across  the  big  room. 

"  I  hear  the  kid  peeping,"  he  said  to  Stella  quite 
casually,  "  and  I  noticed  Martha  outside  as  I  came  in. 
Better  go  see  what's  up  with  him." 

Trained  to  repression,  schooled  in  self-control,  Stella 
rose  to  obey,  for  under  the  smoothness  of  his  tone  there 
was  the  iron  edge  of  command.  Her  heart  apparently 
ceased  to  beat.  She  tried  to  smile,  but  she  knew  that 
her  face  was  tear-wet.  She  knew  that  Jack  Fyfe  had 
seen  and  understood.  She  had  done  no  wrong,  but  a 
terrible  apprehension  of  consequences  seized  her,  a  fear 
that  tragedy  of  her  own  making  might  stalk  grimly  in 
that  room. 

In  this  extremity  she  banked  with  implicit  faith  on 
the  man  she  had  married  rather  than  the  man  she  loved. 
For  the  moment  she  felt  overwhelmingly  glad  that  Jack 
Fyfe  was  iron  —  cool,  unshakable.  He  would  never 


THE   CRISIS  189 

give  an  inch,  but  he  would  never  descend  to  any  sordid 
scene.  She  could  not  visualize  him  the  jealous,  out- 
raged husband,  breathing  the  conventional  anathema, 
but  there  were  elements  unreckonable  in  that  room. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  Fyfe  once  aroused  would 
be  deadly  in  anger  and  she  could  not  vouch  for  Mono- 
han's  temper  under  the  strain  of  feeling.  That  was 
why  she  feared. 

So  she  lingered  a  second  or  two  outside  the  door, 
quaking,  but  there  arose  only  the  sound  of  Fyfe's  heavy 
body  settling  into  a  leather  chair,  and  following  that 
the  low,  even  rumble  of  his  voice.  She  could  not  dis- 
tinguish words.  The  tone  sounded  ordinary,  conver- 
sational. She  prayed  that  his  intent  was  to  ignore 
the  situation,  that  Monohan  would  meet  him  halfway 
in  that  effort.  Afterward  there  would  be  a  reckoning. 
But  for  herself  she  neither  thought  nor  feared.  It  was 
a  problem  to  be  faced,  that  was  all.  And  so,  the  breath 
of  her  coming  in  short,  quick  respirations,  she  went  to 
her  room.  There  was  no  wailing  from  the  nursery. 
She  had  known  that. 

Sitting  beside  a  window,  chin  in  hand,  her  lower  lip 
compressed  between  her  teeth,  she  saw  Fyfe,  after  the 
lapse  of  ten  minutes,  leave  by  the  front  entrance,  stop- 
ping to  chat  a  minute  with  Linda  and  Charlie  Benton, 
who  were  moving  slowly  toward  the  house.  Stella  rose 
to  her  feet  and  dabbed  at  her  face  with  a  powdered 
chamois.  She  couldn't  let  Monohan  go  like  that;  her 
heart  cried  out  against  it.  Very  likely  they  would 
never  meet  again. 

She  flew  down  the  hall  to  the  living  room.     Monohan 


igo  BIG   TIMBER 

stood  just  within  the  front  door,  gazing  irresolutely 
over  his  shoulder.  He  took  a  step  or  two  to  meet  her. 
His  clean-cut  face  was  drawn  into  sullen  lines,  a  deep 
flush  mantled  his  cheek. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  tensely.  "  I've  been  made  to  feel 
like  —  like  —  Well,  I  controlled  myself.  I  knew  it 
had  to  be  that  way.  It  was  unfortunate.  I  think  we 
could  have  been  trusted  to  do  the  decent  thing.  You 
and  I  were  bred  to  do  that.  I've  got  a  little  pride.  I 
can't  come  here  again.  And  I  want  to  see  you  once 
more  before  I  leave  here  for  good.  I'll  be  going  away 
next  week.  That'll  be  the  end  of  it  —  the  bitter  finish. 
Will  you  slip  down  to  the  first  point  south  of  Cougar 
Bay  about  three  in  the  afternoon  to-morrow?  It'll  be 
the  last  and  only  time.  He'll  have  you  for  life ;  can't  I 
talk  to  you  for  twenty  minutes  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  whispered  forlornly.  "  I  can't  do  that. 
I  —  oh,  good-by  —  good-by." 

"  Stella,  Stella,"  she  heard  his  vibrant  whisper  follow 
after.  But  she  ran  away  through  dining  room  and  hall 
to  the  bedroom,  there  to  fling  herself  face  down,  chok- 
ing back  the  passionate  protest  that  welled  up  within 
her.  She  lay  there,  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  until 
the  sputtering  exhaust  of  the  Abbey  cruiser  growing 
fainter  and  more  faint  told  her  they  were  gone. 

She  heard  her  husband  walk  through  the  house  once 
after  that.  When  dinner  was  served,  he  was  not  there. 
It  was  eleven  o'clock  by  the  time-piece  on  her  mantel 
when  she  heard  him  come  in,  but  he  did  not  come  to 
their  room.  He  went  quietly  into  the  guest  chamber 
across  the  hall. 


THE   CRISIS  191 

She  waited  through  a  leaden  period.  Then,  moved 
by  an  impulse  she  did  not  attempt  to  define,  a  mixture 
of  motives,  pity  for  him,  a  craving  for  the  outlet  of 
words,  a  desire  to  set  herself  right  before  him,  she 
slipped  on  a  dressing  robe  and  crossed  the  hall.  The 
door  swung  open  noiselessly.  Fyfe  sat  slumped  in  a 
chair,  hat  pulled  low  on  his  forehead,  hands  thrust  deep 
in  his  pockets.  He  did  not  even  look  up.  His  eyes 
stared  straight  ahead,  absent,  unseeingly  fixed  on  noth- 
ing. He  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  her  presence  or 
to  ignore  it, —  she  could  not  tell  which. 

"  Jack,"  she  said.  And  when  he  made  no  response 
she  said  again,  tremulously,  that  unyielding  silence 
chilling  her,  "  Jack." 

He  stirred  a  little,  but  only  to  take  off  his  hat  and 
lay  it  on  a  table  beside  him.  With  one  hand  pushing 
back  mechanically  the  straight,  reddish-tinged  hair 
from  his  brow,  he  looked  up  at  her  and  said  briefly,  in 
a  tone  barren  of  all  emotion: 

"Well?" 

She  was  suddenly  dumb.  Words  failed  her  utterly. 
Yet  there  was  much  to  be  said,  much  that  was  needful 
to  say.  They  could  not  go  on  with  a  cloud  like  that 
over  them,  a  cloud  that  had  to  be  dissipated  in  the 
crucible  of  words.  Yet  she  could  not  begin.  Fyfe, 
after  a  prolonged  silence,  seemed  to  grasp  her  difficulty. 
Abruptly  he  began  to  speak,  cutting  straight  to  the 
heart  of  his  subject,  after  his  fashion. 

"  It's  a  pity  things  had  to  take  his  particular  turn," 
said  he.  "  But  now  that  you're  face  to  face  with  some- 
thing definite,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  about  it  ?  " 


i92  BIG    TIMBER 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  slowly.  "  I  can't  help  the 
feeling.  It's  there.  But  I  can  thrust  it  into  the  back- 
ground, go  on  as  if  it  didn't  exist.  There's  nothing 
else  for  me  to  do,  that  I  can  see.  I'm  sorry,  Jack." 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said  grimly.  "  Still,  it  was  a  chance 
we  took, —  or  I  took,  rather.  I  seem  to  have  made  a 
mistake  or  two,  in  my  estimate  of  both  you  and  myself. 
That  is  human  enough,  I  suppose.  You're  making  a 
bigger  mistake  than  I  did  though,  to  let  Monohan  sweep 
you  off  your  feet." 

There  was  something  that  she  read  for  contempt  in 
his  tone.  It  stung  her. 

"  He  hasn't  swept  me  off  my  feet,  as  you  put  it," 
she  cried.  "  Good  Heavens,  do  you  think  I'm  that 
spineless  sort  of  creature?  I've  never  forgotten  I'm 
your  wife.  I've  got  a  little  self-respect  left  yet,  if  I 
was  weak  enough  to  grasp  at  the  straw  you  threw  me 
in  the  beginning.  I  was  honest  with  you  then.  I'm 
trying  to  be  honest  with  you  now." 

"  I  know,  Stella,"  he  said  gently.  "  I'm  not  throw- 
ing mud.  It's  a  damnably  unfortunate  state  of  affairs, 
that's  all.  I  foresaw  something  of  the  sort  when  we 
were  married.  You  were  candid  enough  about  your 
attitude.  But  I  told  myself  like  a  conceited  fool  that  I 
could  make  your  life  so  full  that  in  a  little  while  I'd 
be  the  only  possible  figure  on  your  horizon.  I've  failed. 
I've  known  for  some  time  that  I  was  going  to  fail. 
You're  not  the  thin-blooded  type  of  woman  that  is  satis- 
fied with  pleasant  surroundings  and  any  sort  of  man. 
You're  bound  to  run  the  gamut  of  all  the  emotions, 
sometime  and  somewhere.  I  loved  you,  and  I  thought 


THE    CRISIS  193 

in  my  conceit  I  could  make  myself  the  man,  the  one 
man  who  would  mean  everything  to  you. 

"  Just  the  same,"  he  continued,  "  you've  been  a  fool, 
and  I  don't  see  how  you  can  avoid  paying  the  penalty 
for  folly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  haven't  tried  to  play  the  game,"  he  answered 
tensely.  "  For  months  you've  been  withdrawing  into 
your  shell.  You've  been  clanking  your  chains  and  half- 
heartedly wishing  for  some  mysterious  power  to  strike 
them  off.  It  wasn't  a  thing  you  undertook  lightly.  It 
isn't  a  thing  — •  marriage,  I  mean  —  that  you  hold 
lightly.  That  being  the  case,  you  would  have  been  wise 
to  try  making  the  best  of  it,  instead  of  making  the  worst 
of  it.  But  you  let  yourself  drift  into  a  state  of  mind 
where  you  —  well,  you  see  the  result.  I  saw  it  coming. 
I  didn't  need  to  happen  in  this  afternoon  to  know  that 
there  were  undercurrents  of  feeling  swirling  about. 
And  so  the  way  you  feel  now  is  in  itself  a  penalty.  If 
you  let  Monohan  cut  any  more  figure  in  your  thoughts, 
you'll  pay  bigger  in  the  end." 

"  I  can't  help  my  thoughts,  or  I  should  say  my  feel- 
ings," she  said  wearily. 

"  You  think  you  love  him,"  Fyfe  made  low  reply. 
"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  love  what  you  think  he  is.  I 
daresay  that  he  has  sworn  his  affection  by  all  that's 
good  and  great.  But  if  you  were  convinced  that  he 
didn't  really  care,  that  his  flowery  protestations  had  a 
double  end  in  view,  would  you  still  love  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  murmured.  "  But  that's  beside 
the  point.  I  do  love  him.  I  know  it's  unwise.  It's  a 


IQ4  BIG    TIMBER 

feeling  that  has  overwhelmed  me  in  a  way  that  I  didn't 
believe  possible,  that  I  had  hoped  to  avoid.  But  — 
but  I  can't  pretend,  Jack.  I  don't  want  you  to  mis- 
understand. I  don't  want  this  to  make  us  both  miser- 
able. I  don't  want  it  to  generate  an  atmosphere  of 
suspicion  and  jealousy.  We'd  only  be  fighting  about 
a  shadow.  I  never  cheated  at  anything  in  my  life. 
You  can  trust  me  still,  can't  you?" 

"  Absolutely,"  Fyfe  answered  without  hesitation. 

"  Then  that's  all  there  is  to  it,"  she  replied,  "  unless 

—  unless  you're  ready  to  give  me  up  as  a  hopeless  case, 
and  let  me  go  away  and  blunder  along  the  best  I  can." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  haven't  even  considered  that,"  he  said.  "  Very 
likely  it's  unwise  of  me  to  say  this, —  it  will  probably 
antagonize  you, —  but  I  know  Monohan  better  than  you 
do.  I'd  go  pretty  far  to  keep  you  two  apart  —  now 

—  for  your  sake." 

"  It  would  be  the  same  if  it  were  any  other  man," 
she  muttered.  "  I  can  understand  that  feeling  in  you. 
It's  so  —  so  typically  masculine." 

"  No,  you're  wrong  there,  dead  wrong,"  Fyfe 
frowned.  "  I'm  not  a  self-sacrificing  brute  by  any 
means.  Still,  knowing  that  you'll  only  live  with  me  on 
sufferance,  if  you  were  honestly  in  love  with  a  man  that 
I  felt  was  halfway  decent,  I'd  put  my  feelings  in  my 
pocket  and  let  you  go.  If  you  cared  enough  for  him 
to  break  every  tie,  to  face  the  embarrassment  of  divorce, 
why,  I'd  figure  you  were  entitled  to  your  freedom  and 
whatever  happiness  it  might  bring.  But  Monohan  — 
hell,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him.  I  trust  you, 


THE   CRISIS  195 

Stella.  I'm  banking  on  your  own  good  sense.  And 
along  with  that  good,  natural  common  sense,  you've  got 
so  many  illusions.  About  life  in  general,  and  about 
men.  They  seem  to  have  centered  about  this  one  par- 
ticular man.  I  can't  open  your  eyes  or  put  you  on  the 
right  track.  That's  a  job  for  yourself.  All  I  can  do 
is  to  sit  back  and  wait." 

His  voice  trailed  off  huskily. 

Stella  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Do  you  care  so  much  as  all  that,  Jack?"  she 
whispered.  "  Even  in  spite  of  what  you  know  ?  " 

"  For  two  years  now,"  he  answered,  "  you've  been  the 
biggest  thing  in  my  life.  I  don't  change  easy;  I  don't 
want  to  change.  But  I'm  getting  hopeless." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Jack,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  begin  to  tell 
you  how  sorry  I  am.  I  didn't  love  you  to  begin 
with—" 

"  And  you've  always  resented  that,"  he  broke  in. 
"  You've  hugged  that  ghost  of  a  loveless  marriage  to 
your  bosom  and  sighed  for  the  real  romance  you'd 
missed.  Well,  maybe  you  did.  But  you  haven't  found 
it  yet.  I'm  very  sure  of  that,  although  I  doubt  if  I 
could  convince  you." 

"  Let  me  finish,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  knew  I  didn't 
love  you  —  that  I  was  worn  out  and  desperate  and 
clutching  at  the  life  line  you  threw.  In  spite  of  that, 
—  well,  if  I  fight  down  this  love,  or  fascination,  or  in- 
fatuation, or  whatever  it  is, —  I'm  not  sure  myself,  ex- 
cept that  it  affects  me  strongly, —  can't  we  be  friends 
again?  " 

"  Friends !     Oh,  hell !  "  Fyfe  exploded. 


ig6  BIG    TIMBER 

He  came  up  out  of  his  chair  with  a  blaze  in  his  eyes 
that  startled  her,  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  thrust  her 
out  the  door. 

"  Friends  ?  You  and  I  ?  "  He  sank  his  voice  to  a 
harsh  whisper.  "  My  God  —  friends !  Go  to  bed. 
Good  night." 

He  pushed  her  into  the  hall,  and  the  lock  clicked 
between  them.  For  one  confused  instant  Stella  stood 
poised,  uncertain.  Then  she  went  into  her  bedroom 
and  sat  down,  her  keenest  sensation  one  of  sheer  relief. 
Already  in  those  brief  hours  emotion  had  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted her.  To  be  alone,  to  lie  still  and  rest,  to  banish 
thought, —  that  was  all  she  desired. 

She  lay  on  her  bed  inert,  numbed,  all  but  her  mind, 
and  that  traversed  section  by  section  in  swift,  consecu- 
tive progress  ah1  the  amazing  turns  of  her  life  since 
she  first  came  to  Roaring  Lake.  There  was  neither 
method  nor  inquiry  in  this  back-casting  —  merely  a 
ceaseless,  involuntary  activity  of  the  brain. 

A  little  after  midnight  when  all  the  house  was  hushed, 
she  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  cuddled  Jack  Junior 
into  her  arms,  and  took  him  to  her  own  bed.  With  his 
chubby  face  nestled  against  her  breast,  she  lay  there 
fighting  against  that  interminable,  maddening  buzzing 
in  her  brain.  She  prayed  for  sleep,  her  nervous  fingers 
stroking  the  silky,  baby  hair. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN    WHICH    THERE    IS    A    FURTHER    CLASH 

One  can  only  suffer  so  much.  Poignant  feeling 
brings  its  own  anaesthetic.  When  Stella  Fyfe  fell  into 
a  troubled  sleep  that  night,  the  storm  of  her  emotions 
had  beaten  her  sorely.  Morning  brought  its  physical 
reaction.  She  could  see  things  clearly  and  calmly 
enough  to  perceive  that  her  love  for  Monohan  was 
fraught  with  factors  that  must  be  taken  into  account. 
All  the  world  loves  a  lover,  but  her  world  did  not  love 
lovers  who  kicked  over  the  conventional  traces.  She 
had  made  a  niche  for  herself.  There  were  ties  she  could 
not  break  lightly,  and  she  was  not  thinking  of  herself 
alone  when  she  considered  that,  but  of  her  husband 
and  Jack  Junior,  of  Linda  Abbey  and  Charlie  Benton, 
of  each  and  every  individual  whose  life  touched  more  or 
less  directly  upon  her  own. 

She  had  known  always  what  a  woman  should  do  in 
such  case,  what  she  had  been  taught  a  woman  should 
do:  grin,  as  Monohan  had  said,  and  take  her  medicine. 
For  her  there  was  no  alternative.  Fyfe  had  made 
that  clear.  But  her  heart  cried  out  in  rebellion  against 
the  necessity.  To  her,  trying  to  think  logically,  the 
most  grievous  phase  of  the  doing  was  the  fact  that 
nothing  could  ever  be  the  same  again.  She  could  go 


ig8  BIG    TIMBER 

on.  Oh,  yes.  She  could  dam  up  the  wellspring  of  her 
impulses,  walk  steadfast  along  the  accustomed  ways. 
But  those  ways  would  not  be  the  old  ones.  There 
would  always  be  the  skeleton  at  the  feast.  She  would 
know  it  was  there,  and  Jack  Fyfe  would  know,  and  she 
dreaded  the  fruits  of  that  knowledge,  the  bitterness 
and  smothered  resentment  it  would  breed.  But  it  had 
to  be.  As  she  saw  it,  there  was  no  choice. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  calmly  enough.  It  was 
nothing  that  could  be  altered  by  heroics,  by  tears  and 
wailings.  Not  that  she  was  much  given  to  either.  She 
had  not  whined  when  her  brother  made  things  so  hard 
for  her  that  any  refuge  seemed  alluring  by  comparison. 
Curiously  enough,  she  did  not  blame  her  brother  now; 
neither  did  she  blame  Jack  Fyfe. 

She  told  herself  that  in  first  seeking  the  line  of  least 
resistance  she  had  manifested  weakness,  that  since  her 
present  problem  was  indirectly  the  outgrowth  of  that 
original  weakness,  she  would  be  weak  no  more.  So  she 
tried  to  meet  her  husband  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
in  which  she  succeeded  outwardly  very  well  indeed, 
since  Fyfe  himself  chose  to  ignore  any  change  in  their 
mutual  attitude. 

She  busied  herself  about  the  house  that  forenoon, 
seeking  deliberately  a  multitude  of  little  tasks  to  oc- 
cupy her  hands  and  her  mind. 

But  when  lunch  was  over,  she  was  at  the  end  of  her 
resources.  Jack  Junior  settled  in  his  crib  for  a  nap. 
Fyfe  went  away  to  that  area  back  of  the  camp  where 
arose  the  crash  of  falling  trees  and  the  labored  puffing 
of  donkey  engines.  She  could  hear  faint  and  far  the 


THERE   IS   A   FURTHER   CLASH      199 

voices  of  the  falling  gangs  that  cried :  "  Tim-ber-r-r-r." 
She  could  see  on  the  bank,  a  little  beyond  the  bunkhouse 
and  cook-shack,  the  big  reader  spooling  up  the  cable 
that  brought  string  after  string  of  logs  down  to  the 
lake.  Rain  or  sun,  happiness  or  sorrow,  the  work 
went  on.  She  found  it  in  her  heart  to  envy  the  sturdy 
loggers.  They  could  forget  their  troubles  in  the 
strain  of  action.  Keyed  as  she  was  to  that  high  pitch, 
that  sense  of  their  unremitting  activity,  the  ravaging 
of  the  forest  which  produced  the  resources  for  which 
she  had  sold  herself  irritated  her.  She  was  very  bitter 
when  she  thought  that. 

She  longed  for  some  secluded  place  to  sit  and  think, 
or  try  to  stop  thinking.  And  without  fully  realizing 
the  direction  she  took,  she  walked  down  past  the  camp, 
crossed  the  skid-road,  stepping  lightly  over  main  line 
and  haul-back  at  the  donkey  engineer's  warning,  and 
went  along  the  lake  shore. 

A  path  wound  through  the  belt  of  brush  and  hard- 
wood that  fringed  the  lake.  Not  until  she  had  followed 
this  up  on  the  neck  of  a  little  promontory  south  of  the 
bay,  did  she  remember  with  a  shock  that  she  was  ap- 
proaching the  place  where  Monohan  had  begged  her  to 
meet  him.  She  looked  at  her  watch.  Two-thirty. 
She  sought  the  shore  line  for  sight  of  a  boat,  wonder- 
ing if  he  would  come  in  spite  of  her  refusal.  But  to 
her  great  relief  she  saw  no  sign  of  him.  Probably  he 
had  thought  better  of  it,  had  seen  now  as  she  had  seen 
then  that  no  good  and  an  earnest  chance  of  evil  might 
come  of  such  a  clandestine  meeting,  had  taken  her 
stand  as  final. 


200  BIG   TIMBER 

She  was  glad,  because  she  did  not  want  to  go  back 
to  the  house.  She  did  not  want  to  make  the  effort  of 
wandering  away  in  the  other  direction  to  find  that  rest- 
ful peace  of  woods  and  water.  She  moved  up  a  little 
on  the  point  until  she  found  a  mossy  boulder  and  sat 
down  on  that,  resting  her  chin  in  her  palms,  looking 
out  over  the  placid  surface  of  the  lake  with  somber 
eyes. 

And  so  Monohan  surprised  her.  The  knoll  lay  thick- 
carpeted  with  moss.  He  was  within  a  few  steps  of  her 
when  a  twig  cracking  underfoot  apprised  her  of  some 
one's  approach.  She  rose,  with  an  impulse  to  fly,  to 
escape  a  meeting  she  had  not  desired.  And  as  she  rose, 
the  breath  stopped  in  her  throat. 

Twenty  feet  behind  Monohan  came  Jack  Fyfe  with 
his  hunter's  stride,  soundlessly  over  the  moss,  a  rifle 
drooping  in  the  crook  of  his  arm.  A  sunbeam  striking 
obliquely  between  two  firs  showed  her  his  face  plainly, 
the  faint  curl  of  his  upper  lip. 

Something  in  her  look  arrested  Monohan.  He 
glanced  around,  twisted  about,  froze  in  his  tracks,  his 
back  to  her.  Fyfe  came  up.  Of  the  three  he  was  the 
coolest,  the  most  rigorously  self-possessed.  He 
glanced  from  Monohan  to  his  wife,  back  to  Monohan. 
After  that  his  blue  eyes  never  left  the  other  man's  face. 

"What  did  I  say  to  you  yesterday?  "  Fyfe  opened 
his  mouth  at  last.  "  But  then  I  might  have  known  I 
was  wasting  my  breath  on  you !  " 

"  Well,"  Monohan  retorted  insolently,  "  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it?  This  isn't  the  Stone  Age." 

Fyfe  laughed  unpleasantly. 


"  Lucky  for  you.  You'd  have  been  eliminated  long 
ago,"  he  said.  "  No,  it  takes  the  present  age  to  pro- 
duce such  rotten  specimens  as  you." 

A  deep  flush  rose  in  Monohan's  cheeks.  He  took  a 
step  toward  Fyfe,  his  hands  clenched. 

"  You  wouldn't  oay  that  if  you  weren't  armed,"  he 
taunted  hoarsely. 

"No?"  Fyfe  cast  the  rifle  to  one  side.  It  fell 
with  a  metallic  clink  against  a  stone.  "  I  do  say  it 
though,  you  see.  You  are  a  sort  of  a  yellow  dog, 
Monohan.  You  know  it,  and  you  know  that  I  know 
it.  That's  why  it  stings  you  to  be  told  so." 

Monohan  stepped  back  and  slipped  out  of  his  coat. 
His  face  was  crimson. 

"  By  God,  I'll  teach  you  something,"  he  snarled. 

He  lunged  forward  as  he  spoke,  shooting  a  straight- 
arm  blow  for  Fyfe's  face.  It  swept  through  empty 
air,  for  Fyfe,  poised  on  the  balls  of  his  feet,  ducked 
under  the  driving  fist,  and  slapped  Monohan  across 
the  mouth  with  the  open  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  Tag,"  he  said  sardonically.     "  You're  It." 

Monohan  pivoted,  and  rushing,  swung  right  and  left,, 
missing  by  inches.  Fyfe's  mocking  grin  seemed  to 
madden  him  completely.  He  rushed  again,  launching 
another  vicious  blow  that  threw  him  partly  off  his  bal- 
ance. Before  he  could  recover,  Fyfe  kicked  both  feet 
from  under  him,  sent  him  sprawling  on  the  moss. 

Stella  stood  like  one  stricken.  The  very  thing  she 
dreaded  had  come  about.  Yet  the  manner  of  its  un- 
folding was  not  as  she  had  visualized  it  when  she  saw 
Fyfe  near  at  hand.  She  saw  now  a  side  of  her  hus- 


202  BIG    TIMBER 

band  that  she  had  never  glimpsed,  that  she  found  hard 
to  understand.  She  could  have  understood  him  beat- 
ing Monohan  senseless,  if  he  could.  A  murderous  fury 
of  jealousy  would  not  have  surprised  her.  This  did. 
He  had  not  struck  a  blow,  did  not  attempt  to  strike. 

She  could  not  guess  why,  but  she  saw  that  he  was 
playing  with  Monohan,  making  a  fool  of  him,  for  all 
Monohan's  advantage  of  height  and  reach.  Fyfe 
moved  like  the  light,  always  beyond  Monohan's  venge- 
ful blows,  slipping  under  those  driving  fists  to  slap  his 
adversary,  to  trip  him,  mocking  him  with  the  futility 
of  his  effort. 

She  felt  herself  powerless  to  stop  that  sorry  exhibi- 
tion. It  was  not  a  fight  for  her.  Dimly  she  had  a 
feeling  that  back  of  her  lay  something  else.  An  echo 
of  it  had  been  more  than  once  in  Fyfe's  speech.  Here 
and  now,  they  had  forgotten  her  at  the  first  word. 
They  were  engaged  in  a  struggle  for  mastery,  sheer 
brute  determination  to  hurt  each  other,  which  had  little 
or  nothing  to  do  with  her.  She  foresaw,  watching  the 
odd  combat  with  a  feeling  akin  to  fascination,  that  it 
was  a  losing  game  for  Monohan.  Fyfe  was  his  master 
at  every  move. 

Yet  he  did  not  once  attempt  to  strike  a  solid  blow, 
nothing  but  that  humiliating,  open-handed  slap,  that 
dexterous  swing  of  his  foot  that  plunged  Monohan 
headlong.  He  grinned  steadily,  a  cold  grimace  that 
reflected  no  mirth,  being  merely  a  sneering  twist  of  his 
features.  Stella  knew  the  deadly  strength  of  him. 
She  wondered  at  his  purpose,  how  it  would  end. 

The  elusive  light-footedness  of  the  man,  the  succes- 


THERE    IS    A    FURTHER    CLASH       203 

sive  stinging  of  those  contemptuous  slaps  at  last  mad- 
dened Monohan  into  ignoring  the  rules  by  which  men 
fight.  He  dropped  his  hands  and  stood  panting  with 
his  exertions.  Suddenly  he  kicked,  a  swift  lunge  for 
Fyfe's  body. 

Fyfe  leaped  aside.  Then  he  closed.  Powerful  and 
weighty  a  man  as  Monohan  was,  Fyfe  drove  him  half- 
way around  with  a  short-arm  blow  that  landed  near  his 
heart,  and  while  he  staggered  from  that,  clamped  one 
thick  arm  about  his  neck  in  the  strangle-hold.  Hold- 
ing him  helpless,  bent  backwards  across  his  broad  chest, 
Fyfe  slowly  and  systematically  choked  him ;  he  shut  off 
his  breath  until  Monohan's  tongue  protruded,  and  his 
eyes  bulged  glassily,  and  horrible,  gurgling  noises 
issued  from  his  gaping  mouth. 

"  Jack,  Jack ! "  Stella  found  voice  to  shriek. 
"  You're  killing  him." 

Fyfe  lifted  his  eyes  to  hers.  The  horror  he  saw 
there  may  have  stirred  him.  Or  he  may  have  consid- 
ered his  object  accomplished.  Stella  could  not  tell. 
But  he  flung  Monohan  from  him  with  a  force  that  sent 
him  reeling  a  dozen  feet,  to  collapse  on  the  moss.  It 
took  him  a  full  minute  to  regain  his  breath,  to  rise  to 
unsteady  feet,  to  find  his  voice. 

"  You  can't  win  all  the  time,"  he  gasped.  "  By  God, 
I'll  show  you  that  you  can't." 

With  that  he  turned  and  went  back  the  way  he  had 
come.  Fyfe  stood  silent,  hands  resting  on  his  hips, 
watching  until  Monohan  pushed  out  a  slim  speed 
launch  from  under  cover  of  overhanging  alders  and 
set  off  down  the  lake. 


204  BIG   TIMBER 

"Well,"  he  remarked  then,  in  a  curiously  detached, 
impersonal  tone.  "  The  lightning  will  begin  to  play  by 
and  by,  I  suppose." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Stella  asked  breathlessly. 

He  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  turned  to  her  slowly. 
She  saw  now  that  his  face  was  white  and  rigid,  that 
the  line  of  his  lips  drew  harder  together  as  he  looked 
at  her;  but  she  was  not  prepared  for  the  storm  that 
broke.  She  did  not  comprehend  the  tempest  that  raged 
within  him  until  he  had  her  by  the  shoulders,  his  fingers 
crushing  into  her  soft  flesh  like  the  jaws  of  a  trap, 
shaking  her  as  a  terrier  might  shake  a  rat,  till  the 
heavy  coils  of  hair  cascaded  over  her  shoulders,  and 
for  a  second  fear  tugged  at  her  heart.  For  she  thought 
he  meant  to  kill  her. 

When  he  did  desist,  he  released  her  with  a  thrust  of 
his  arms  that  sent  her  staggering  against  a  tree,  shaken 
to  the  roots  of  her  being,  though  not  with  fear.  Anger 
had  displaced  that.  A  hot  protest  against  his  brute 
strength,  against  his  passionate  outbreak,  stirred  her. 
Appearances  were  against  her,  she  knew.  Even  so,  she 
revolted  against  his  cave-man  roughness.  She  was 
amazed  to  find  herself  longing  for  the  power  to  strike 
him. 

She  faced  him  trembling,  leaning  against  the  tree 
trunk,  staring  at  him  in  impotent  rage.  And  the  fire 
died  out  of  his  eyes  as  she  looked.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  or  two  and  turned  away  to  pick  up  his  rifle. 
When  he  faced  about  with  that  in  his  hand,  the  old 
mask  of  immobility  was  in  place.  He  waited  while 
Stella  gathered  up  her  scattered  hairpins  and  made 


THERE    IS    A    FURTHER    CLASH      205 

shift  to  coil  her  hair  into  a  semblance  of  order.  Then 
he  said  gently: 

"  I  won't  break  out  like  that  again." 

"  Once  is  enough." 

"  More  than  enough  —  for  me,"  he  answered. 

She  disdained  reply.  Striking  off  along  the  path 
that  ran  to  the  camp,  she  walked  rapidly,  choking  a 
rising  flood  of  desperate  thought.  With  growing 
coolness  paradoxically  there  burned  hotter  the  flame 
of  an  elemental  wrath.  What  right  had  he  to  lay 
hands  on  her?  Her  shoulders  ached,  her  flesh  was 
bruised  from  the  terrible  grip  of  his  fingers.  The  very 
sound  of  his  footsteps  behind  her  was  maddening.  To 
be  suspected  and  watched,  to  be  continually  the  target 
of  jealous  fury!  No,  a  thousand  times,  no.  She 
wheeled  on  him  at  last. 

"  I  can't  stand  this,"  she  cried.  "  It's  beyond  en- 
durance. We're  like  flint  and  steel  to  each  other  now. 
If  to-day's  a  sample  of  what  we  may  expect,  it's  better 
to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  everything.  I've  got  to  get 
away  from  here  and  from  you  —  from  everybody." 

Fyfe  motioned  her  to  a  near-by  log. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  he.  "  We  may  as  well  have  it  out 
here." 

For  a  few  seconds  he  busied  himself  with  a  cigar,  re- 
moving the  band  with  utmost  deliberation,  biting  the 
end  off,  applying  the  match,  his  brows  puckered 
slightly. 

"  It's  very  unwise  of  you  to  meet  Monohan  like 
that,"  he  uttered  finally. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  flashed.     "  Do  you  suggest  that 


206  BIG   TIMBER 

I  met  him  purposely  —  by  appointment?  Even  if  I 
did—" 

"  That's  for  you  to  say,  Stella,"  he  interrupted 
gravely.  "  I  told  you  last  night  that  I  trusted  you 
absolutely.  I  do,  so  far  as  really  vital  things  are  con- 
cerned, but  I  don't  always  trust  your  judgment.  I 
merely  know  that  Monohan  sneaked  along  shore,  hid 
his  boat,  and  stole  through  the  timber  to  where  you 
were  sitting.  I  happened  to  see  him,  and  I  followed 
him  to  see  what  he  was  up  to,  why  he  should  take  such 
measures  to  keep  under  cover." 

"  The  explanation  is  simple,"  she  answered  stiffly. 
"  You  can  believe  it  or  not,  as  you  choose.  My  being 
there  was  purely  unintentional.  If  I  had  seen  him  be- 
fore he  was  close,  I  should  certainly  not  have  been 
there.  I  have  been  at  odds  with  myself  all  day,  and 
I  went  for  a  walk,  to  find  a  quiet  place  where  I  could 
sit  and  think." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  now,"  he  said.  "  Only  you'd 
better  try  to  avoid  things  like  that  in  the  future. 
Would  you  mind  telling  me  just  exactly  what  you 
meant  a  minute  ago?  Just  what  you  propose  to 
do?" 

He  asked  her  that  as  one  might  make  any  common- 
place inquiry,  but  his  quietness  did  not  deceive  Stella. 

"  What  I  said,"  she  began  desperately.  "  Wasn't 
it  plain  enough?  It  seems  to  me  our  life  is  going  to 
be  a  nightmare  from  now  on  if  we  try  to  live  it  to- 
gether. I  —  I'm  sorry,  but  you  know  how  I  feel.  It 
may  be  unwise,  but  these  things  aren't  dictated  by 
reason.  You  know  that.  If  our  emotions  were 


THERE    IS    A    FURTHER   CLASH      207 

guided  by  reason  and  expediency,  we'd  be  altogether 
different.  Last  night  I  was  willing  to  go  on  and  make 
the  best  of  things.  To-day, —  especially  after  this, — 
it  looks  impossible.  You'll  look  at  me,  and  guess  what 
I'm  thinking,  and  hate  me.  And  I'll  grow  to  hate  you, 
because  you'll  be  little  better  than  a  jailer.  Oh,  don't 
you  see  that  the  way  we'll  feel  will  make  us  utterly 
miserable?  Why  should  we  stick  together  when  no 
good  can  come  of  it?  You've  been  good  to  me.  I've 
appreciated  that  and  liked  you  for  it.  I'd  like  to  be 
friends.  But  I  —  I'd  hate  you  with  a  perfectly  mur- 
derous hatred  if  you  were  always  on  the  watch,  always 
suspecting  me,  if  you  taunted  me  as  you  did  a  while 
ago.  I'm  just  as  much  a  savage  at  heart  as  you  are, 
Jack  Fyfe.  I  could  gladly  have  killed  you  when  you 
were  jerking  me  about  back  yonder." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are,  after  all,  a  little  more  of  a 
primitive  being  than  I've  supposed  ?  " 

Fyfe  leaned  toward  her,  staring  fixedly  into  her  eyes 
— •  eyes  that  were  bright  with  unshed  tears. 

"  And  I  was  holding  the  devil  in  me  down  back  there, 
because  I  didn't  want  to  horrify  you  with  anything 
like  brutality,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully.  "  You  think 
I  grinned  and  made  a  monkey  of  him  because  it  pleased 
me  to  do  that  ?  Why,  I  could  have  —  and  ached  to  — 
break  him  into  little  bits,  to  smash  him  up  so  that  no 
one  would  ever  take  pleasure  in  looking  at  him  again. 
And  I  didn't,  simply  and  solely  because  I  didn't  want 
to  let  you  have  even  a  glimpse  of  what  I'm  capable  of 
when  I  get  started.  I  wonder  if  I  made  a  mistake?  It 
was  merely  the  reaction  from  letting  him  go  scot-free 


208  BIG   TIMBER 

that  made  me  shake  you  so.  I  wonder  —  well,  never 
mind.  Go  on." 

"  I  think  it's  better  that  I  should  go  away,"  Stella 
said.  "  I  want  you  to  agree  that  I  should ;  then  there 
will  be  no  talk  or  anything  disagreeable  from  outside 
sources.  I'm  strong,  I  can  get  on.  It'll  be  a  relief 
to  have  to  work.  I  won't  have  to  be  the  kitchen  drudge 
Charlie  made  of  me.  I've  got  my  voice.  I'm  quite 
sure  I  can  capitalize  that.  But  I've  got  to  go.  Any- 
thing's  better  than  this;  anything  that's  clean  and 
decent.  I'd  despise  myself  if  I  stayed  on  as  your  wife, 
feeling  as  I  do.  It  was  a  mistake  in  the  beginning, 
our  marriage." 

"  Nevertheless,"  Fyfe  said  slowly,  "  I'm  afraid  it's  a 
mistake  you'll  have  to  abide  by  —  for  a  time.  All 
that  you  say  may  be  true,  although  I  don't  admit  it 
myself.  Offhand,  I'd  say  you  were  simply  trying  to 
welch  on  a  fair  bargain.  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  do 
it  blindly,  all  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  where  you  can 
scarcely  think  coherently.  If  you  are  fully  determined 
to  break  away  from  me,  you  owe  it  to  us  both  to  be 
sure  of  what  you're  doing  before  you  act.  I'm  going 
to  talk  plain.  You  can  believe  it  and  disdain  it  if  you 
please.  If  you  were  leaving  me  for  a  man,  a  real  man, 
I  think  I  could  bring  myself  to  make  it  easy  for  you 
and  wish  you  luck.  But  you're  not.  He's  — " 

"  Can't  we  leave  him  out  of  it  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  I 
want  to  get  away  from  you  both.  Can  you  understand 
that?  It  doesn't  help  you  any  to  pick  him  to  pieces." 

"  No,  but  it  might  help  you,  if  I  could  rip  off  that 
swathing  of  idealization  you've  wrapped  around  him," 


THERE   IS    A    FURTHER    CLASH       209 

Fyfe  observed  patiently.  "  It's  not  a  job  I  have  much 
stomach  for  however,  even  if  you  were  willing  to  let 
me  try.  But  to  come  back.  You've  got  to  stick  it 
out  with  me,  Stella.  You'll  hate  me  for  the  constraint, 
I  suppose.  But  until  —  until  things  shape  up  differ- 
ently —  you'll  understand  what  I'm  talking  about  by 
and  by,  I  think  —  you've  got  to  abide  by  the  bargain 
you  made  with  me.  I  couldn't  force  you  to  stay,  I 
know.  But  there's  one  hold  you  can't  break  — :  not  if 
I  know  you  at  all." 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  icily. 

"  The  kid's,"  he  murmured. 

Stella  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  minute. 

"  I'd  forgotten  —  I'd  forgotten,"  she  whispered. 

"  You  understand,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said  hesitatingly. 
"  If  you  leave  —  I  keep  our  boy." 

"  Oh,  you're  devilish  —  to  use  a  club  like  that,"  she 
cried.  "  You  know  I  wouldn't  part  from  my  baby  - — 
the  only  thing  I've  got  that's  worth  having." 

"  He's  worth  something  to  me  too,"  Fyfe  muttered. 
"  A  lot  more  than  you  think,  maybe.  I'm  not  trying 
to  club  you.  There's  nothing  in  it  for  me.  But  for 
him;  well,  he  needs  you.  It  isn't  his  fault  he's  here, 
or  that  you're  unhappy.  I've  got  to  protect  him,  see 
that  he  gets  a  fair  shake.  I  can't  see  anything  to  it 
but  for  you  to  go  on  being  Mrs.  Jack  Fyfe  until  such 
time  as  you  get  back  to  a  normal  poise.  Then  it  will 
be  time  enough  to  try  and  work  out  some  arrangement 
that  won't  be  too  much  of  a  hardship  on  him.  It's 
that  —  or  a  clean  break  in  which  you  go  your  own 
way,  and  I  try  to  mother  him  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 


210  BIG   TIMBER 

You'll  understand  sometime  why  I'm  showing  my  teeth 
this  way." 

"  You  have  everything  on  your  side,"  she  admitted 
dully,  after  a  long  interval  of  silence.  "  I'm  a  fool. 
I  admit  it.  Have  things  your  way.  But  it  won't 
work,  Jack.  This  flare-up  between  us  will  only  smoul- 
der. I  think  you  lay  a  little  too  much  stress  on  Mono- 
han.  It  isn't  that  I  love  him  so  much  as  that  I  don't 
love  you  at  all.  I  can  live  without  him  —  which  I  mean 
to  do  in  any  case  —  far  easier  than  I  can  live  with  you. 
It  won't  work." 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  replied.  "  You  won't  be  an- 
noyed by  me  in  person.  I'll  have  my  hands  full  else- 
where." 

They  rose  and  walked  on  to  the  house.  On  the 
porch  Jack  Junior  was  being  wheeled  back  and  forth 
in  his  carriage.  He  lifted  chubby  arms  to  his  mother 
as  she  came  up  the  steps.  Stella  carried  him  inside, 
hugging  the  sturdy,  blue-eyed  mite  close  to  her  breast. 
She  did  not  want  to  cry,  but  she  could  not  help  it. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  been  threatened  with  irrevocable 
loss  of  that  precious  bit  of  her  own  flesh  and  blood. 
She  hugged  him  to  her,  whispering  mother-talk,  half- 
hysterical,  wholly  tender. 

Fyfe  stood  aside  for  a  minute.  Then  he  came  up 
behind  her  and  stood  resting  one  hand  on  the  back  of 
her  chair. 

"  Stella." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  got  word  from  my  sister  and  her  husband  in  this 
morning's  mail.  They  will  very  likely  be  here  next 


THERE   IS   A   FURTHER   CLASH      211 

week  for  a  three  days'  stay.  Brace  up.  Let's  try  and 
keep  our  skeleton  from  rattling  while  they're  here. 
Will  you?" 

"  All  right,  Jack.     I'll  try." 

He  patted  her  tousled  hair  lightly  and  left  the  room. 
Stella  looked  after  him  with  a  surge  of  mixed  feeling. 
She  told  herself  she  hated  him  and  his  dominant  will 
that  always  beat  her  own  down;  she  hated  him  for  his 
amazing  strength  and  for  his  unvarying  sureness  of 
himself.  And  in  the  same  breath  she  found  herself 
wondering  if, —  with  their  status  reversed, —  Walter 
Monohan  would  be  as  patient,  as  gentle,  as  self-con- 
trolled with  a  wife  who  openly  acknowledged  her  affec- 
tion for  another  man.  And  still  her  heart  cried  out 
for  Monohan.  She  flared  hot  against  the  disparaging 
note,  the  unconcealed  contempt  Fyfe  seemed  to  have 
for  him. 

Yet  in  spite  of  her  eager  defence  of  him,  there  was 
something  ugly  about  that  clash  with  Fyfe  in  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  something  that  jarred.  It  wasn't  spon- 
taneous. She  could  not  understand  that  tigerish  on- 
slaught of  Monohan's.  It  was  more  the  action  she 
would  have  expected  from  her  husband. 

It  puzzled  her,  grieved  her,  added  a  little  to  the 
sorrowful  weight  that  settled  upon  her.  They  were 
turbulent  spirits  both.  The  matter  might  not  end 
there. 

In  the  next  ten  days  three  separate  incidents,  each 
isolated  and  relatively  unimportant,  gave  Stella  food 
for  much  puzzled  thought. 

The  first  was  a  remark  of  Fyfe's  sister  in  the  first 


212  BIG   TIMBER 

hours  of  their  acquaintance.  Mrs.  Henry  Alden  could 
never  have  denied  blood  kinship  with  Jack  Fyfe.  She 
had  the  same  wide,  good-humored  mouth,  the  blue  eyes 
that  always  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  twinkling,  and 
the  same  fair,  freckled  skin.  Her  characteristics  of 
speech  resembled  his.  She  was  direct,  bluntly  so,  and 
she  was  not  much  given  to  small  talk.  Fyfe  and  Stella 
met  the  Aldens  at  Roaring  Springs  with  the  Waterbug. 
Alden  proved  a  genial  sort  of  man  past  forty,  a  big, 
loose- jointed  individual  whose  outward  appearance  gave 
no  indication  of  what  he  was  professionally, —  a  civil 
engineer  with  a  reputation  that  promised  to  spread 
beyond  his  native  States. 

"  You  don't  look  much  different,  Jack,"  his  sister 
observed  critically,  as  the  Waterbug  backed  away  from 
the  wharf  in  a  fine  drizzle  of  rain.  "  Except  that  as 
you  grow  older,  you  more  and  more  resemble  the 
pater.  Has  matrimony  toned  him  down,  my  dear  ?  " 
she  turned  to  Stella.  "  The  last  time  I  saw  him  he 
had  a  black  eye !  " 

Fyfe  did  not  give  her  a  chance  to  answer. 

"  Be  a  little  more  diplomatic,  Dolly,"  he  smiled. 
"  Mrs.  Jack  doesn't  realize  what  a  rowdy  I  used  to  be. 
I've  reformed." 

"  Ah,"  Mrs.  Alden  chuckled,  "  I  have  a  vision  of  you 
growing  meek  and  mild." 

They  talked  desultorily  as  the  launch  thrashed  along. 
Alden's  profession  took  him  to  all  corners  of  the  earth. 
That  was  why  the  winter  of  Fyfe's  honeymoon  had  not 
made  them  acquainted.  Alden  and  his  wife  were  then 
in  South  America.  This  visit  was  to  fill  in  the  time 


THERE   IS   A   FURTHER   CLASH      213 

before  the  departure  of  a  trans-Pacific  liner  which 
would  land  the  Aldens  at  Manila. 

Presently  the  Abbey-Monohan  camp  and  bungalow 
lay  abeam.  Stella  told  Mrs.  Alden  something  of  the 
place. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  Mrs.  Alden  turned  to  her 
brother.  "  I  was  quite  sure  I  saw  Walter  Monohan 
board  a  train  while  we  were  waiting  for  the  hotel  car 
in  Hopyard.  I  heard  that  he  was  in  timber  out  here. 
Is  he  this  Monohan  ?  " 

Fyfe  nodded. 

"  How  odd,"  she  remarked,  "  that  you  should  be  in 
the  same  region.  Do  you  still  maintain  the  ancient 
feud?" 

Fyfe  shot  her  a  queer  look. 

"We've  grown  up,  Dolly,"  he  said  drily.  Then: 
"  Do  you  expect  to  get  back  to  God's  country  short 
of  a  year,  Alden  ?  " 

That  was  all.  Neither  of  them  reverted  to  the  sub- 
ject again.  But  Stella  pondered.  An  ancient  feud? 
She  had  not  known  of  that.  Neither  man  had  ever 
dropped  a  hint. 

For  the  second  incident,  Paul  Abbey  dropped  in  to 
idinner  a  few  days  later  and  divulged  a  bit  of  news. 

"  There's  been  a  shake-up  in  our  combination,"  he 
remarked  casually  to  Fyfe.  "  Monohan  and  dad  have 
split  over  a  question  of  business  policy.  Walter's  tak- 
ing over  all  our  interests  on  Roaring  Lake.  He  ap- 
pears to  be  going  to  peel  off  his  coat  and  become 
personally  active  in  the  logging  industry.  Funny 
streak  for  Monohan  to  take,  isn't  it?  He  never 


214  BIG   TIMBER 

seemed  to  care  a  hoot  about  the  working  end  of  the 
business,  so  long  as  it  produced  dividends." 

Lastly,  Charlie  Benton  came  over  to  eat  a  farewell 
dinner  with  the  Aldens  the  night  before  they  left.  He 
followed  Stella  into  the  nursery  when  she  went  to  tuck 
Jack  Junior  in  his  crib. 

"  Say,  Stell,"  he  began,  "  I  have  just  had  a  letter 
from  old  man  Lander ;  you  remember  he  was  dad's  legal 
factotum  and  executor." 

"  Of  course,"  she  returned. 

"  Well,  do  you  recall  —  you  were  there  when  the 
estate  was  wound  up,  and  I  was  not  —  any  mention  of 
some  worthless  oil  stock?  Some  California  wildcat 
stuff  the  governor  got  bit  on?  It  was  found  among 
his  effects." 

"  I  seem  to  recall  something  of  the  sort,"  she  an- 
swered. "  But  I  don't  remember  positively.  What 
about  it?" 

"  Lander  writes  me  that  there  is  a  prospect  of  it 
being  salable.  The  company  is  reviving.  And  he 
finds  himself  without  legal  authority  to  do  business, 
although  the  stock  certificates  are  still  in  his  hands. 
He  suggests  that  we  give  him  a  power  of  attorney  to 
sell  this  stuff.  He's  an  awfully  conservative  old  chap, 
so  there  must  be  a  reasonable  prospect  of  some  cash, 
or  he  wouldn't  bother.  My  hunch  is  to  give  him  a 
power  of  attorney  and  let  him  use  his  own  judgment." 

"  How  much  is  it  worth  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  par  value  is  forty  thousand  dollars,"  Benton 
grinned.  "  But  the  governor  bought  it  at  ten  cents 
on  the  dollar.  If  we  get  what  he  paid,  we'll  be  lucky. 


THERE   IS   A   FURTHER   CLASH      215 

That'll  be  two  thousand  apiece.  I  brought  you  a 
blank  form.  I'm  going  down  with  you  on  the  Bug  to- 
morow  to  send  mine.  I'd  advise  you  to  have  yours 
signed  up  and  witnessed  before  a  notary  at  Hopyard 
and  send  it  too." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  she  said. 

"  It  isn't  much,"  Benton  mused,  leaning  on  the  foot 
of  the  crib,  watching  her  smooth  the  covers  over  little 
Jack.  "  But  it  won't  come  amiss  —  to  me,  at  least. 
I'm  going  to  be  married  in  the  spring." 

Stella  looked  up. 

"  You  are  ?  "  she  murmured.     "  To  Linda  Abbey  ?  " 

He  nodded.  A  slight  flush  crept  over  his  tanned 
face  at  the  steady  look  she  bent  on  him. 

"Hang  it,  what  are  you  thinking?"  he  broke  out. 
"  I  know  you've  rather  looked  down  on  me  because  I 
acted  like  a  bounder  that  winter.  But  I  really  took 
a  tumble  to  myself.  You  set  me  thinking  when  you 
made  that  sudden  break  with  Jack.  I  felt  rather 
guilty  about  that  —  until  I  saw  how  it  turned  out. 
I  know  I'm  not  half  good  enough  for  Linda.  But  so 
long  as  she  thinks  I  am  and  I  try  to  live  up  to  that, 
why  we've  as  good  a  chance  to  be  happy  as  anybody. 
We  all  make  breaks,  us  fellows  that  go  at  everything 
roughshod.  Still,  when  we  pull  up  and  take  a  new 
tack,  you  shouldn't  hold  grudges.  If  we  could  go  back 
to  that  fall  and  winter,  I'd  do  things  a  lot  differently." 

"  If  you're  both  really  and  truly  in  love,"  Stella  said 
quietly,  "  that's  about  the  only  thing  that  matters. 
I  hope  you'll  be  happy.  But  you'll  have  to  be  a  lot 
different  with  Linda  Abbey  than  you  were  with  me." 


216  BIG   TIMBER 

"Ah,  Stella,  don't  harp  on  that,"  he  said  shame- 
facedly. "  I  was  rotten,  it's  true.  But  we're  all 
human.  I  couldn't  see  anything  then  only  what  I 
wanted  myself.  I  was  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop.  It's 
different  now.  I'm  on  my  feet  financially,  and  I've 
had  time  to  draw  my  breath  and  take  a  squint  at  my- 
self from  a  different  angle.  I  did  you  a  good  turn, 
anyway,  even  if  I  was  the  cause  of  you  taking  a  leap 
before  you  looked.  You  landed  right." 

Stella  mustered  a  smile  that  was  purely  facial.  It 
maddened  her  to  hear  his  complacent  justification  of 
himself.  And  the  most  maddening  part  of  it  was  her 
knowledge  that  Benton  was  right,  that  in  many  essen- 
tial things  he  had  done  her  a  good  turn,  which  her  own 
erratic  inclinations  bade  fair  to  wholly  nullify. 

"  I  wish  you  all  the  luck  and  happiness  in  the  world," 
she  said  gently.  "  And  I  don't  bear  a  grudge,  believe 
me,  Charlie.  Now,  run  along.  We'll  keep  baby 
awake,  talking." 

"  All  right."  He  turned  to  go  and  came  back  again. 
.  "  What  I  really  came  in  to  say,  I've  hardly  got 
nerve  enough  for."  He  sank  his  voice  to  a  murmur. 
"  Don't  fly  off  at  me,  Stell.  But  —  you  haven't  got 
a  trifle  interested  in  Monohan,  have  you?  I  mean,  you 
haven't  let  him  think  you  are  ?  " 

Stella's  hands  tightened  on  the  crib  rail.  For  an 
instant  her  heart  stood  still.  A  wholly  unreasoning 
blaze  of  anger  seized  her.  But  she  controlled  that. 
Pride  forbade  her  betraying  herself. 

"  What  a  perfectly  ridiculous  question,"  she  man- 
aged to  reply. 


THERE   IS   A   FURTHER   CLASH      217 

He  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  Because,  if  you  have  —  well,  you  might  be  per- 
fectly innocent  in  the  matter  and  still  get  in  bad,"  he 
continued  evenly.  "  I'd  like  to  put  a  bug  in  your  ear." 

She  bent  over  Jack  Junior,  striving  to  inject  an 
amused  note  into  her  reply. 

"  Don't  be  so  absurd,  Charlie." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it  is.  Only,  darn  it,  I've  seen 
him  look  at  you  in  a  way  —  Pouf !  I  was  going  to 
tell  you  something.  Maybe  Jack  has  —  only  he's 
such  a  close-mouthed  beggar.  I'm  not  very  anxious 
to  peddle  things."  Benton  turned  again.  "  I  guess 
you  don't  need  any  coaching  from  me,  anyhow." 

He  walked  out.  Stella  stared  after  him,  her  eyes 
blazing,  hands  clenched  into  hard-knuckled  little  fists. 
She  could  have  struck  him. 

And  still  she  wondered  over  and  over  again,  burning 
with  a  consuming  fire  to  know  what  that  "  something  " 
was  which  he  had  to  tell.  All  the  slumbering  devils  of 
a  stifled  passion  awoke  to  rend  her,  to  make  her  rage 
against  the  coil  in  which  she  was  involved.  She  de- 
spised herself  for  the  weakness  of  unwise  loving,  even 
while  she  ached  to  sweep  away  the  barriers  that  stood 
between  her  and  love.  Mingled  with  that  there  whis- 
pered an  intuition  of  disaster  to  come,  of  destiny 
shaping  to  peculiar  ends.  In  Monohan's  establishing 
himself  on  Roaring  Lake  she  sensed  something  more 
than  an  industrial  shift.  In  his  continued  presence 
there  she  saw  incalculable  sources  of  trouble.  She 
stood  leaning  over  the  bed  rail,  staring  wistfully  at  her 
boy  for  a  few  minutes.  When  she  faced  the  mirror  in 


218  BIG   TIMBER 

her  room,  she  was  startled  at  the  look  in  her  eyes,  the 
nervous  twitch  of  her  lips.  There  was  a  physical  ache 
in  her  breast. 

"  You're  a  fool,  a  fool,"  she  whispered  to  her  image. 
"Where's  your  will,  Stella  Fyfc?  Borrow  a  little  of 
your  husband's  backbone.  Presently  —  presently  it 
won't  matter." 

One  can  club  a  too  assertive  ego  into  insensibility. 
A  man  may  smile  and  smile  and  be  a  villain  still,  as  the 
old  saying  has  it,  and  so  may  a  woman  smile  and  smile 
when  her  heart  is  tortured,  when  every  nerve  in  her  is 
strained  to  the  snapping  point.  Stella  went  back  to 
the  living  room  and  sang  for  them  until  it  was  time  to 
go  to  bed. 

The  Aldens  went  first,  then  Charlie.  Stella  left  her 
door  ajar.  An  hour  afterward,  when  Fyfe  came  down 
the  hall,  she  rose.  It  had  been  her  purpose  to  call 
him  in,  to  ask  him  to  explain  that  wrhich  her  brother 
had  hinted  he  could  explain,  what  prior  antagonism 
lay  between  him  and  Monohan,  what  that  "  something  " 
about  Monohan  was  which  differentiated  him  from 
other  men  where  she  was  concerned.  Instead  she  shut 
the  door,  slid  the  bolt  home,  and  huddled  in  a  chair 
with  her  face  in  her  hands. 

She  could  not  discuss  Monohan  with  him,  with  any 
one.  Why  should  she  ask?  she  told  herself.  It  was  a 
closed  book,  a  balanced  account.  One  does  not  revive 
Head  issues. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    OPENING    GUN 

The  month  of  November  slid  day  by  day  into  the 
limbo  of  the  past.  The  rains  washed  the  land  unceas- 
ingly. Gray  veilings  of  mist  and  cloud  draped  the 
mountain  slopes.  As  drab  a  shade  colored  Stella 
Fyfe's  daily  outlook.  She  was  alone  a  great  deal. 
Even  when  they  were  together,  she  and  her  husband, 
words  did  not  come  easily  between  them.  He  was 
away  a  great  deal,  seeking,  she  knew,  the  old  panacea 
of  work,  hard,  unremitting  work,  to  abate  the  ills  of 
his  spirit.  She  envied  him  that  outlet.  Work  for  her 
there  was  none.  The  two  Chinamen  and  Martha  the 
nurse  left  her  no  tasks.  She  could  not  read,  for  all 
their  great  store  of  books  and  magazines;  the  printed 
page  would  lie  idle  in  her  lap,  and  her  gaze  would  wan- 
der off  into  vacancy,  into  that  thought-world  where 
her  spirit  wandered  in  distress.  The  Abbeys  were  long 
gone ;  her  brother  hard  at  his  logging.  There  were  no 
neighbors  and  no  news.  The  savor  was  gone  out  of 
everything.  The  only  bright  spot  in  her  days  was 
Jack  Junior,  now  toddling  precociously  on  his  sturdy 
legs,  a  dozen  steps  at  a  time,  crowing  victoriously  when 
he  negotiated  the  passage  from  chair  to  chair. 

From  the  broad  east  windows  of  their  house  she  saw 


220  BIG   TIMBER 

all  the  traffic  that  came  and  went  on  the  upper  reaches 
of  Roaring  Lake,  Siwashes  in  dugouts  and  fishing 
boats,  hunters,  prospectors.  But  more  than  any  other 
she  saw  the  craft  of  her  husband  and  Monohan,  the 
powerful,  black-hulled  Panther,  the  smaller,  daintier 
Waterbug. 

There  was  a  big  gasoline  workboat,  gray  with  a  yel- 
low funnel,  that  she  knew  was  Monohan's.  And  this 
craft  bore  past  there  often,  inching  its  downward  way 
with  swifters  of  logs,  driving  fast  up-lake  without  a 
tow.  Monohan  had  abandoned  work  on  the  old 
Abbey-Monohan  logging-grounds.  The  camps  and  the 
bungalow  lay  deserted,  given  over  to  a  solitary  watch- 
man. The  lake  folk  had  chattered  at  this  proceeding, 
and  the  chatter  had  come  to  Stella's  ears.  He  had  put 
in  two  camps  at  the  lake  head,  so  she  heard  indirectly : 
one  on  the  lake  shore,  one  on  the  Tyee  River,  a  little 
above  the  mouth.  He  had  sixty  men  in  each  camp, 
and  he  was  getting  the  name  of  a  driver.  Three  miles 
above  his  Tyee  camp,  she  knew,  lay  the  camp  her  hus- 
band had  put  in  during  the  early  summer  to  cut  a 
heavy  limit  of  cedar.  Fyfe  had  only  a  small  crew 
there. 

She  wondered  a  little  why  he  spent  so  much  time 
there,  when  he  had  seventy-odd  men  working  near 
home.  But  of  course  he  had  an  able  lieutenant  in 
Lefty  Howe.  And  she  could  guess  why  Jack  Fyfe 
kept  away.  She  was  sorry  for  him  —  and  for  herself. 
But  being  sorry  —  a  mere  semi-neutral  state  of  mind 
—  did  not  help  matters,  she  told  herself  gloomily. 

Lefty  Howe's  wife  was  at  the  camp  now,  on  one  of 


THE   OPENING   GUN  221 

her  occasional  visits.  Howe  was  going  across  the  lake 
one  afternoon  to  see  a  Siwash  whom  he  had  engaged  to 
catch  and  smoke  a  winter's  supply  of  salmon  for  the 
camps.  Mrs.  Howe  told  Stella,  and  on  impulse  Stella 
bundled  Jack  Junior  into  warm  clothing  and  went  with 
them  for  the  ride. 

Halfway  across  the  six-mile  span  she  happened  to 
look  back,  and  a  new  mark  upon  the  western  shore 
caught  her  eye.  She  found  a  glass  and  leveled  it  on 
the  spot.  Two  or  three  buildings,  typical  logging- 
camp  shacks  of  split  cedar,  rose  back  from  the  beach. 
Behind  these  again  the  beginnings  of  a  cut  had  eaten 
a  hole  in  the  forest, —  a  slashing  different  from  the 
ordinary  logging  slash,  for  it  ran  narrowly,  straight 
back  through  the  timber;  whereas  the  first  thing  a 
logger  does  is  to  cut  all  the  merchantable  timber  he 
can  reach  on  his  limit  without  moving  his  donkey  from 
the  water.  It  was  not  more  than  two  miles  from  their 
house. 

"  What  new  camp  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  Howe. 

"  Monohan's,"  he  answered  casually. 

"  I  thought  Jack  owned  all  the  shore  timber  to 
Medicine  Point  ?  "  she  said. 

Howe  shook  his  head. 

"Uh-uh.  Well,  he  does  too,  all  but  where  that 
camp  is.  Monohan's  got  a  freak  limit  in  there.  It's 
half  a  mile  wide  and  two  miles  straight  back  from  the 
beach.  Lays  between  our  holdin's  like  the  ham  in  a 
sandwich.  Only,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  it's  a 
blame  thin  piece  uh  ham.  About  the  poorest  timber 
in  a  long  stretch.  I  dunno  why  the  Sam  Hill  he's  cut- 


222  BIG   TIMBER 

tin'  it.  But  then  he's  doin'  a  lot  uh  things  no  prac- 
tical logger  would  do." 

Stella  laid  down  the  glasses.  It  was  nothing  to  her, 
she  told  herself.  She  had  seen  Monohan  only  once 
since  the  day  Fyfe  choked  him,  and  then  only  to  ex- 
change the  barest  civilities  —  and  to  feel  her  heart 
flutter  at  the  message  his  eyes  telegraphed. 

When  she  returned  from  the  launch  trip,  Fyfe  was 
home,  and  Charlie  Benton  with  him.  She  crossed  the 
heavy  rugs  on  the  living  room  floor  noiselessly  in  her 
overshoes,  carrying  Jack  Junior  asleep  in  her  arms. 
And  so  in  passing  the  door  of  Fyfe's  den,  she  heard 
her  brother  say: 

"  But,  good  Lord,  you  don't  suppose  he'll  be  sap- 
head  enough  to  try  such  fool  stunts  as  that?  He 
couldn't  make  it  stick,  and  he  brings  himself  within 
the  law  first  crack;  and  the  most  he  could  do  would 
be  to  annoy  you." 

"  You  underestimate  Monohan,"  Fyfe  returned. 
"  He'll  play  safe,  personally,  so  far  as  the  law  goes. 
He's  foxy.  I  advise  you  to  sell  if  the  offer  comes 
again.  If  you  make  any  more  breaks  at  him,  he'll 
figure  some  way  to  get  you.  It  isn't  your  fight,  you 
know.  You  unfortunately  happen  to  be  in  the  road." 

"  Damned  if  I  do,"  Benton  swore.  "  I'm  all  in  the 
clear.  There's  no  way  he  can  get  me,  and  I'll  tell  him 
what  I  think  of  him  again  if  he  gives  me  half  a  chance. 
I  never  liked  him,  anyhow.  Why  should  I  sell  when 
I'm  just  getting  in  real  good  shape  to  take  that  timber 
out  myself?  Why,  I  can  make  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  the  next  five  years  on  that  block  of  timber. 


THE   OPENING   GUN  223 

Besides,  without  being  a  sentimental  sort  of  beggar, 
I  don't  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  you  helped  pull  me 
out  of  a  hole  when  I  sure  needed  a  pull.  And  I  don't 
like  his  high-handed  style.  No,  if  it  comes  to  a  show- 
down, I'm  with  you,  Jack,  as  far  as  I  can  go.  What 
the  hell  can  he  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  that  I  can  see."  Fyfe  laughed  un- 
pleasantly. "  But  he'll  try.  He  has  dollars  to  our 
cents.  He  could  throw  everything  he's  got  on  Roar- 
ing Lake  into  the  discard  and  still  have  forty  thousand 
a  year  fixed  income.  Sabe?  Money  does  more  than 
talk  in  this  country.  I  think  I'll  pull  that  camp  off 
the  Tyee." 

"  Well,  maybe,"  Benton  said.     "  I'm  not  sure  — " 

Stella  passed  on.  She  wanted  to  hear,  but  it  went 
against  her  grain  to  eavesdrop.  Her  pause  had  been 
purely  involuntary.  When  she  became  conscious  that 
she  was  eagerly  drinking  in  each  word,  she  hurried  by. 

Her  mind  was  one  urgent  question  mark  while  she 
laid  the  sleeping  youngster  in  his  bed  and  removed  her 
heavy  clothes.  What  sort  of  hostilities  did  Monohan 
threaten?  Had  he  let  a  hopeless  love  turn  to  the  acid 
of  hate  for  the  man  who  nominally  possessed  her? 
Stella  could  scarcely  credit  that.  It  was  too  much  at 
variance  with  her  idealistic  conception  of  the  man.  He 
would  never  have  recourse  to  such  littleness.  Still,  the 
biting  contempt  in  Fyf e's  voice  when  he  said  to  Benton : 
"  You  underestimate  Monohan.  He'll  play  safe  .  .  . 
he's  foxy."  That  stung  her  to  the  quick.  That  was 
not  said  for  her  benefit;  it  was  Fyfe's  profound  con- 
viction. Based  on  what?  He  did  not  form  judgments 


224  BIG    TIMBER 

on  momentary  impulse.  She  recalled  that  only  in  the 
most  indirect  way  had  he  ever  passed  criticism  on 
Monohan,  and  then  it  lay  mostly  in  a  tone,  suggested 
more  than  spoken.  Yet  he  knew  Monohan,  had  known 
him  for  years.  They  had  clashed  long  before  she  was 
a  factor  in  their  lives. 

When  she  went  into  the  big  room,  Benton  and  Fyfe 
were  gone  outdoors.  She  glanced  into  Fyfe's  den.  It 
was  empty,  but  a  big  blue-print  unrolled  on  the  table 
where  the  two  had  been  seated  caught  her  eye.  She 
bent  over  it,  drawn  by  the  lettered  squares  along  the 
wavy  shore  line  and  the  marked  waters  of  creeks  she 
knew. 

She  had  never  before  possessed  a  comprehensive  idea 
of  the  various  timber  holdings  along  the  west  shore  of 
Roaring  Lake,  since  it  had  not  been  a  matter  of  par- 
ticular interest  to  her.  She  was  not  sure  why  it  now 
became  a  matter  of  interest  to  her,  unless  it  was  an 
impression  that  over  these  squares  and  oblongs  which 
stood  for  thousands  upon  thousands  of  merchantable 
logs  there  was  already  shaping  a  struggle,  a  clash  of 
iron  wills  and  determined  purposes  directly  involving, 
perhaps  arising  because  of  her. 

She  studied  the  blue-print  closely.  Its  five  feet  of 
length  embraced  all  the  west  shore  of  the  lake,  from  the 
outflowing  of  Roaring  River  to  the  incoming  Tyee  at 
the  head.  Each  camp  was  lettered  in  with  pencil.  But 
her  attention  focussed  chiefly  on  the  timber  limits  rang- 
ing north  and  south  from  their  home,  and  she  noted  two 
details:  that  while  the  limits  marked  A-M  Co.  were  im- 
partially distributed  from  Cottonwood  north,  the 


THE   OPENING   GUN  225 

squares  marked  J.  H.  Fyfe  lay  in  a  solid  block  about 
Cougar  Bay, —  save  for  that  long  tongue  of  a  limit 
where  she  had  that  day  noted  the  new  camp.  That 
thrust  like  the  haft  of  a  spear  into  the  heart  of  Fyfe's 
timberland. 

There  was  the  Abbey-Monohan  cottage,  the  three 
limits  her  brother  controlled  lying  up  against  Fyfe's 
southern  boundary.  Up  around  the  mouth  of  the  Tyee 
spread  the  vast  checkerboard  of  Abbey-Monohan  limits, 
and  beyond  that,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river, 
a  single  block, —  Fyfe's  cedar  limit, —  the  camp  he 
thought  he  would  close  down. 

Why?  Immediately  the  query  shaped  in  her  mind. 
Monohan  was  concentrating  his  men  and  machinery 
at  the  lake  head.  Fyfe  proposed  to  shut  down  a  camp 
but  well-established ;  established  because  cedar  was 
climbing  in  price,  an  empty  market  clamoring  for  cedar 
logs.  Why? 

Was  there  aught  of  significance  in  that  new  camp  of 
Monohan's  so  near  by ;  that  sudden  activity  on  ground 
that  bisected  her  husband's  property?  A  freak  limit 
of  timber  so  poor  that  Lefty  Howe  said  it  could  only 
be  logged  at  a  loss. 

She  sighed  and  went  out  to  give  dinner  orders  to  Sam 
Foo.  If  she  could  only  go  to  her  husband  and  talk  as 
they  had  been  able  to  talk  things  over  at  first.  But 
there  had  grown  up  between  them  a  deadly  restraint. 
She  supposed  that  was  inevitable.  Both  chafed  under 
conditions  they  could  not  change  or  would  not  for  stub- 
bornness and  pride. 

It  made  a  deep  impression  on  her,  all  these  successive, 


226  BIG   TIMBER 

disassociated  finger  posts,  pointing  one  and  all  to  things 
under  the  surface,  to  motives  and  potentialities  she  had 
not  glimpsed  before  and  could  only  guess  at  now. 

Fyfe  and  Benton  came  to  dinner  more  or  less  pre- 
occupied, an  odd  mood  for  Charlie  Benton.  After- 
wards they  went  into  session  behind  the  closed  door  of 
Fyfe's  den.  An  hour  or  so  later  Benton  went  home. 
While  she  listened  to  the  soft  cliuff-a-chuff-a-chuff  of 
the  Chickamm  dying  away  in  the  distance,  Fyfe  came 
in  and  slumped  down  in  a  chair  before  the  fire  where  a 
big  fir  stick  crackled.  He  sat  there  silent,  a  half- 
smoked  cigar  clamped  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  the 
lines  of  his  square  jaw  in  profile,  determined,  rigid. 
Stella  eyed  him  covertly.  There  were  times,  in  those 
moods  of  concentration,  when  sheer  brute  power  seemed 
his  most  salient  characteristic.  Each  bulging  curve  of 
his  thick  upper  arm,  his  neck  rising  like  a  pillar  from 
massive  shoulders,  indicated  his  power.  Yet  so  well- 
proportioned  was  he  that  the  size  and  strength  of  him 
was  masked  by  the  symmetry  of  his  body,  just  as  the 
deliberate  immobility  of  his  face  screened  the  play  of 
his  feelings.  Often  Stella  found  herself  staring  at  him, 
fruitlessly  wondering  what  manner  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing that  repression  overlaid.  Sometimes  a  tricksy, 
half-provoked  desire  to  break  through  the  barricade  of 
his  stoicism  tempted  her.  She  told  herself  that  she 
ought  to  be  thankful  for  his  aloofness,  his  acquiescence 
in  things  as  they  stood.  Yet  there  were  times  when  she 
would  almost  have  welcomed  an  outburst,  a  storm,  any- 
thing rather  than  that  deadly  chill,  enduring  day  after 
day.  He  seldom  spoke  to  her  now  except  of  most  mat- 


THE    OPENING    GUN  227 

ter-of-fact  things.  He  played  his  part  like  a  gentleman 
before  others,  but  alone  with  her  he  withdrew  into  his 
shell. 

Stella  was  sitting  back  in  the  shadow,  still  studying 
him,  measuring  him  in  spite  of  herself  by  the  Monohan 
yardstick.  There  wasn't  much  basis  for  comparison. 
It  wasn't  a  question  of  comparison ;  the  two  men  stood 
apart,  distinctive,  in  every  attribute.  The  qualities  in 
Fyfe  that  she  understood  and  appreciated,  she  beheld 
glorified  in  Monohan.  Yet  it  was  not,  after  all,  a  ques- 
tion of  qualities.  It  was  something  more  subtle,  some- 
thing of  the  heart  which  defied  logical  analysis. 

Fyfe  had  never  been  able  to  set  her  pulse  dancing. 
She  had  never  craved  physical  nearness  to  him,  so  that 
she  ached  with  the  poignancy  of  that  craving.  She  had 
been  passively  contented  with  him,  that  was  all.  And 
Monohan  had  swept  across  her  horizon  like  a  flame. 
Why  couldn't  Jack  Fyfe  have  inspired  in  her  that  head- 
long sort  of  passion?  She  smiled  hopelessly.  The 
tears  were  very  close  to  her  eyes.  She  loved  Monohan ; 
Monohan  loved  her.  Fyfe  loved  her  in  his  deliberate, 
repressed  fashion  and  possessed  her,  according  to  the 
matrimonial  design.  And  although  now  his  possession 
was  a  hollow  mockery,  he  would  never  give  her  up  — 
not  to  Walter  Monohan.  She  had  that  fatalistic  con- 
viction. 

How  would  it  end  in  the  long  run? 

She  leaned  forward  to  speak.  Words  quivered  on 
her  lips.  But  as  she  struggled  to  shape  them  to  ut- 
terance, the  blast  of  a  boat  whistle  came  screaming  up 
from  the  water,  near  and  shrill  and  imperative. 


228  BIG   TIMBER 

Fyfe  came  out  of  his  chair  like  a  shot.  He  landed 
poised  on  his  feet,  lips  drawn  apart,  hands  clenched. 
He  held  that  pose  for  an  instant,  then  relaxed,  his 
breath  coming  with  a  quick  sigh. 

Stella  stared  at  him.  Nerves !  She  knew  the  symp- 
toms too  well.  Nerves  at  terrible  tension  in  that  big, 
splendid  body.  A  slight  quiver  seemed  to  run  over  him. 
Then  he  was  erect  and  calmly  himself  again,  standing  in 
a  listening  attitude. 

"  That's  the  Panther?  "  he  said.  "  Pulling  in  to  the 
Waterbug's  landing.  Did  I  startle  you  when  I  bounced 
up  like  a  cougar,  Stella?  "  he  asked,  with  a  wry  smile. 
"  I  guess  I  was  half  asleep.  That  whistle  jolted  me." 

Stella  glanced  out  the  shaded  window. 

"  Some  one's  coming  up  from  the  float  with  a  lan- 
tern," she  said.  "  Is  there  —  is  there  likely  to  be  any- 
thing wrong,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Anything  wrong?  "  He  shot  a  quick  glance  at  her. 
Then  casually :  "  Not  that  I  know  of." 

The  bobbing  lantern  came  up  the  path  through  the 
lawn.  Footsteps  crunched  on  the  gravel. 

"  I'll  go  see  what  he  wants,"  Fyfe  remarked. 
"  Calked  boots  won't  be  good  for  the  porch  floor." 

She  followed  him. 

"  Stay  in.     It's  cold."     He  stopped  in  the  doorway. 

"  No.     I'm  coming,"  she  persisted. 

They  met  the  lantern  bearer  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps. 

"  Well,  Thorsen?  "  Fyfe  shot  at  him.  There  was  an 
unusual  note  of  sharpness  in  his  voice,  an  irritated  ex- 
pectation. 


THE   OPENING   GUN  229 

Stella  saw  that  it  was  the  skipper  of  the  Panther,  a 
big  and  burly  Dane.  He  raised  the  lantern  a  little. 
The  dim  light  on  his  face  showed  it  bruised  and  swollen. 
Fyfe  grunted. 

"  Our  boom  is  hung  up,"  he  said  plaintively. 
"  They've  blocked  the  river.  I  got  licked  for  arguin' 
the  point." 

"  How's  it  blocked?  "  Fyfe  asked. 

"  Two  swifters  uh  logs  strung  across  the  channel. 
They're  drivin'  piles  in  front.  An'  three  donkeys 
buntin'  logs  in  behind." 

"  Swift  work.  There  wasn't  a  sign  of  a  move  when 
I  left  this  morning,"  Fyfe  commented  drily.  "  Well, 
take  the  Panther  around  to  the  inner  landing.  I'll  be 
there." 

"What's  struck  that  feller  Monohan?"  the  Dane 
sputtered  angrily.  "  Has  he  got  any  license  to  close 
the  Tyee  ?  He  says  he  has  —  an'  backs  his  argument 
strong,  believe  me.  Maybe  you  can  handle  him.  I 
couldn't.  Next  time  I'll  have  a  cant-hook  handy.  By 
jingo,  you  gimme  my  pick  uh  Lefty's  crew,  Jack,  an' 
I'll  bring  that  cedar  out." 

"  Take  the  Panther  'round,"  Fyfe  replied.  "  We'll 
see." 

Thorsen  turned  back  down  the  slope.  In  a  minute 
the  thrum  of  the  boat's  exhaust  arose  as  she  got  under 
way. 

"  Come  on  in.  You'll  get  cold  standing  here,"  Fyfe 
said  to  Stella. 

She  followed  him  back  into  the  living  room.  He  sat 
on  the  arm  of  a  big  leather  chair,  rolling  the  dead  cigar 


23o  BIG   TIMBER 

thoughtfully  between  his  lips,  little  creases  gathering 
between  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  going  up  the  lake,"  he  said  at  last,  getting  up 
abruptly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jack?  "  she  asked.  "  Why,  has 
trouble  started  up  there?  " 

"  Part  of  the  logging  game,"  he  answered  indiffer- 
ently. "Don't  amount  to  much." 

"  But  Thorsen  has  been  fighting.  His  face  was  ter- 
rible. And  I've  heard  you  say  he  was  one  of  the  most 
peaceable  men  alive.  Is  it  —  is  Monohan  — " 

"  We  won't  discuss  Monohan,"  Fyfe  said  curtly. 
"  Anyway,  there's  no  danger  of  him  getting  hurt." 

He  went  into  his  den  and  came  out  with  hat  and  coat 
on.  At  the  door  he  paused  a  moment. 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Nothing's  going 
to  happen." 

But  she  stood  looking  out  the  window  after  he  left, 
uneasy  with  a  prescience  of  trouble.  She  watched  with 
a  feverish  interest  the  stir  that  presently  arose  about 
the  bunkhouses.  That  summer  a  wide  space  had  been 
cleared  between  bungalow  and  camp.  She  could  see 
moving  lanterns,  and  even  now  and  then  hear  the  voices 
of  men  calling  to  each  other.  Once  the  Panther's  daz- 
zling eye  of  a  searchlight  swung  across  the  landing,  and 
its  beam  picked  out  a  file  of  men  carrying  their  blankets 
toward  the  boat.  Shortly  after  that  the  tender  rounded 
the  point.  Close  behind  her  went  the  Waterbug,  and 
both  boats  swarmed  with  men. 

Stella  looked  and  listened  until  there  was  but  a  faint 
thrum  far  up  the  lake.  Then  she  went  to  bed,  but  not 


THE    OPENING    GUN  231 

to  sleep.  What  ugly  passions  were  loosed  at  the  lake 
head  she  did  not  know.  But  on  the  face  of  it  she  could 
not  avoid  wondering  if  Monohan  had  deliberately  set 
out  to  cross  and  harass  Jack  Fyfe.  Because  of  her? 
That  was  the  question  which  had  hovered  on  her  lips 
that  evening,  one  she  had  not  brought  herself  to  ask. 
Because  of  her,  or  because  of  some  enmity  that  far 
preceded  her?  She  had  thought  him  big  enough  to  do 
as  she  had  done,  as  Fyfe  was  tacitly  doing, —  make  the 
best  of  a  grievous  matter. 

But  if  he  had  allowed  his  passions  to  dictate  reprisals, 
she  trembled  for  the  outcome.  Fyfe  was  not  a  man  to 
sit  quiet  under  either  affront  or  injury.  He  would 
fight  with  double  rancor  if  Monohan  were  his  adver- 
sary. 

"  If  anything  happens  up  there,  I'll  hate  myself," 
she  whispered,  when  the  ceaseless  turning  of  her  mind 
had  become  almost  unendurable.  "  I  was  a  silly,  weak 
fool  to  ever  let  Walter  Monohan  know  I  cared.  And 
I'll  hate  him  too  if  he  makes  me  a  bone  of  contention.  I 
elected  to  play  the  game  the  only  decent  way  there 
is  to  play  it.  So  did  he.  Why  can't  he  abide  by 
that?" 

Noon  of  the  next  day  saw  the  Waterbug  heave  to  a 
quarter  mile  abeam  of  Cougar  Point  to  let  off  a  lone 
figure  in  her  dinghy,  and  then  bore  on,  driving  straight 
and  fast  for  Roaring  Springs.  Stella  flew  to  the  land- 
ing. Mother  Howe  came  puffing  at  her  heels. 

"  Land's  sake,  I  been  worried  to  death,"  the  older 
woman  breathed.  "  When  men  git  to  quarrellin'  about 
timber,  you  never  can  tell  where  they'll  stop,  Mrs.  Jack. 


232  BIG   TIMBER 

I've  knowed  some  wild  times  in  the  woods  in  the  past." 

The  man  in  the  dink  was  Lefty  Howe.  He  pulled  in 
beside  the  float.  When  he  stepped  up  on  the  planks,  he 
limped  perceptibly. 

"  Land  alive,  what  happened  yuh,  Lefty  ?  "  his  wife 
cried. 

"  Got  a  rap  on  the  leg  with  a  peevy,"  he  said. 
"  Nothin'  much." 

"  Why  did  the  Waterbug  go  down  the  lake?  "  Stella 
asked  breathlessly.  The  man's  face  was  serious. 
"  What  happened  up  there  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  fuss,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  Three 
or  four  of  the  boys  got  beat  up  so  they  need  patchin'. 
Jack's  takin'  'em  down  to  the  hospital.  Damn  that 
yeller-headed  Monohan !  "  his  voice  lifted  suddenly  in 
uncontrollable  anger.  "  Billy  Dale  was  killed  this 
mornin',  mother." 

Stella  felt  herself  grow  sick.  Death  is  a  small  matter 
when  it  strikes  afar,  among  strangers.  When  it  comes 
to  one's  door!  Billy  Dale  had  piloted  the  Waterbug 
for  a  year,  a  chubby,  round-faced  boy  of  twenty,  a 
foster-son  of  Mother  Howe's  before  she  had  children  of 
her  own.  Stella  had  asked  Jack  to  put  him  on  the 
Waterbug  because  he  was  such  a  loyal,  cheery  sort  of 
soul,  and  Billy  had  been  a  part  of  every  expedition  they 
had  taken  around  the  lake.  She  could  not  think  of  him 
as  a  rigid,  lifeless  lump  of  clay.  Why,  only  the  day 
before  he  had  been  laughing  and  chattering  aboard  the 
cruiser,  going  up  and  down  the  cabin  floor  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  Jack  Junior  perched  triumphantly  astride 
his  back. 


THE    OPENING   GUN  233 

"What  happened?"  she  cried  wildly.  "Tell  me, 
quick." 

"  It's  quick  told,"  Howe  said  grimly.  "  We  were 
ready  at  daylight.  Monohan's  got  a  hard  crew,  and 
they  jumped  us  as  soon  as  we  started  to  clear  the  chan- 
nel. So  we  cleared  them,  first.  It  didn't  take  so  long. 
Three  of  our  men  was  used  bad,  and  there's  plenty  of 
sore  heads  on  both  sides.  But  we  did  the  job.  After 
we  got  them  on  the  run,  we  blowed  up  their  swifters  an' 
piles  with  giant.  Then  we  begun  to  put  the  cedar 
through.  Billy  was  on  the  bank  when  somebody  shot 
him  from  across  the  river.  One  mercy,  he  never  knew 
what  hit  him.  An'  you'll  never  come  so  close  bein'  a 
widow  again,  Mrs.  Fyfe,  an'  not  be.  That  bullet  was 
meant  for  Jack,  I  figure.  He  was  sittin'  down.  Billy 
was  standin'  right  behind  him  watchin'  the  logs  go 
through.  Whoever  he  was,  he  shot  high,  that's  all. 
There,  mother,  don't  cry.  That  don't  help  none. 
What's  done's  done." 

Stella  turned  and  walked  up  to  the  house,  stunned. 
She  could  not  credit  bloodshed,  death.  Always  in  her 
life  both  had  been  things  remote.  And  as  the  real  sig- 
nificance of  Lefty  Howe's  story  grew  on  her,  she  shud- 
dered. It  lay  at  her  door,  equally  with  her  and  Mono- 
han,  even  if  neither  of  their  hands  had  sped  the  bul- 
let,—  an  indirect  responsibility  but  gruesomely  real  to 
her. 

God  only  knows  to  what  length  she  might  have  gone 
in  reaction.  She  was  quivering  under  that  self-inflicted 
lash,  bordering  upon  hysteria  when  she  reached  the 
house.  She  could  not  shut  out  a  too-vivid  picture  of 


234  BIG    TIMBER 

Billy  Dale  lying  murdered  on  the  Tyee's  bank,  of  the 
accusing  look  with  which  Fyfe  must  meet  her.  Rightly 
so,  she  held.  She  did  not  try  to  shirk.  She  had  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  least  resistance,  lacked  the  dour  cour- 
age to  pull  herself  up  in  the  beginning,  and  it  led  to 
this.  She  felt  Billy  Dale's  blood  wet  on  her  soft  hands. 
She  walked  into  her  own  house  panting  like  a  hunted 
animal. 

And  she  had  barely  crossed  the  threshold  when  back 
in  the  rear  Jack  Junior's  baby  voice  rose  in  a  shrill 
scream  of  pain. 

Stella  scarcely  heard  her  husband  and  the  doctor 
come  in.  For  a  weary  age  she  had  been  sitting  in  a 
low  rocker,  a  pillow  across  her  lap,  and  on  that  the 
little,  tortured  body  swaddled  with  cotton  soaked  in 
olive  oil,  the  only  dressing  she  and  Mrs.  Howe  could 
devise  to  ease  the  pain.  All  those  other  things  which 
had  so  racked  her,  the  fight  on  the  Tyee,  the  shooting 
of  Billy  Dale,  they  had  vanished  somehow  into  thin  air 
before  the  dread  fact  that  her  baby  wras  dying  slowly 
before  her  anguished  eyes.  She  sat  numbed  with  that 
deadly  assurance,  praying  without  hope  for  help  to 
come,  hopeless  that  any  medical  skill  would  avail  when 
it  did  come.  So  many  hours  had  been  wasted  while  a 
man  rowed  to  Benton's  camp,  while  the  Chickamin 
steamed  to  Roaring  Springs,  while  the  Waterbug  came 
driving  back.  Five  hours !  And  the  skin,  yes,  even 
shreds  of  flesh,  had  come  away  in  patches  with  Jack 
Junior's  clothing  when  she  tcok  it  off.  She  bent  over 
him,  fearful  that  every  feeble  breath  would  be  his  last. 


THE   OPENING   GUN  235 

She  looked  up  at  the  doctor.  Fyfe  was  beside  her, 
his  calked  boots  biting  into  the  oak  floor. 

"  See  what  you  can  do,  doc,"  he  said  huskily.  Then 
to  Stella :  "  How  did  it  happen?  " 

"  He  toddled  away  from  Martha,"  she  whispered. 
"  Sam  Foo  had  set  a  pan  of  boiling  water  on  the  kitchen 
floor.  He  fell  into  it.  Oh,  my  poor  little  darling." 

They  watched  the  doctor  bare  the  terribly  scalded 
body,  examine  it,  listen  to  the  boy's  breathing,  count  his 
pulse.  In  the  end  he  re-dressed  the  tiny  body  with  stuff 
from  the  case  with  which  a  country  physician  goes 
armed  against  all  emergencies.  He  was  very  deliberate 
and  thoughtful.  Stella  looked  her  appeal  when  he 
finished. 

"  He's  a  sturdy  little  chap,"  he  said,  "  and  we'll  do 
our  best.  A  child  frequently  survives  terrific  shock. 
It  would  be  mistaken  kindness  for  me  to  make  light  of 
his  condition  simply  to  spare  your  feelings.  He  has 
an  even  chance.  I  shall  stay  until  morning.  Now,  I 
think  it  would  be  best  to  lay  him  on  a  bed.  You  must 
relax,  Mrs.  Fyfe.  I  can  see  that  the  strain  is  telling 
on  you.  You  mustn't  allow  yourself  to  get  in  that  ab- 
normal condition.  The  baby  is  not  conscious  of  pain. 
He  is  not  suffering  half  so  much  in  his  body  as  you  are 
in  your  mind,  and  you  mustn't  do  that.  Be  hopeful. 
We'll  need  your  help.  We  should  have  a  nurse,  but 
there  was  no  time  to  get  one." 

They  laid  Jack  Junior  amid  downy  pillows  on  Stella's 
bed.  The  doctor  stood  looking  at  him,  then  drew  a 
chair  beside  the  bed. 

"  Go  and  walk  about  a  little,  Mrs.  Fyfe,"  he  advised, 


236  BIG   TIMBER 

"  and  have  your  dinner.  I'll  want  to  watch  the  boy 
a  while." 

But  Stella  did  not  want  to  walk.  She  did  not  want 
to  eat.  She  was  scarcely  aware  that  her  limbs  were 
cramped  and  aching  from  her  long  vigil  in  the  chair. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  herself  and  her  problems,  any 
more.  Every  shift  of  her  mind  turned  on  her  baby,  the 
little  mite  she  had  nursed  at  her  breast,  the  one  joy 
untinctured  with  bitterness  that  was  left  her.  The 
bare  chance  that  those  little  feet  might  never  patter 
across  the  floor  again,  that  little  voice  never  wake  her 
in  the  morning  crying  "  Mom-mom,"  drove  her  dis- 
tracted. 

She  went  out  into  the  living  room,  walked  to  a  win- 
dow, stood  there  drumming  on  the  pane  with  nervous 
fingers.  Dusk  was  falling  outside ;  a  dusk  was  creeping 
over  her.  She  shuddered. 

Fyfe  came  up  behind  her,  put  his  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and  turned  her  so  that  she  faced  him. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help,  Stella,"  he  whispered.  "  I  wish 
I  could  make  you  feel  less  forlorn.  Poor  little  kiddies 
—  both  of  you." 

She  shook  off  his  hands,  not  because  she  rebelled 
against  his  touch,  against  his  sympathy,  merely  because 
she  had  come  to  that  nervous  state  where  she  scarce 
realized  what  she  did. 

"  Oh,"  she  choked,  "  I  can't  bear  it.  My  baby,  my 
little  baby  boy.  The  one  bright  spot  that's  left,  and 
he  has  to  suffer  like  that.  If  he  dies,  it's  the  end  of 
everything  for  me." 

Fyfe  stared  at  her.     The  warm,  pitying  look  on  his 


THE    OPENING    GUN  237 

face  ebbed  away,  hardened  into  his  old,  mask-like 
absence  of  expression. 

"  No,"  he  said  quietly,  "  it  would  only  be  the  be- 
ginning. Lord  God,  but  this  has  been  a  day." 

He  whirled  about  with  a  quick  gesture  of  his  hands, 
a  harsh,  raspy  laugh  that  was  very  near  a  sob,  and  left 
her.  Twenty  minutes  later,  when  Stella  was  irresistibly 
drawn  back  to  the  bedroom,  she  found  him  sitting  sober 
and  silent,  looking  at  his  son. 

A  little  past  midnight  Jack  Junior  died. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FREE    AS    THE    WIND 

Stella  sat  watching  the  gray  lines  of  rain  beat  down 
on  the  asphalt,  the  muddy  rivulets  that  streamed  along 
the  gutter.  A  forlorn  sighing  of  wind  in  the  bare 
boughs  of  a  gaunt  elm  that  stood  before  her  window 
reminded  her  achingly  of  the  wind  drone  among  the  tall 
firs. 

A  ghastly  two  weeks  had  intervened  since  Jack 
Junior's  little  life  blinked  out.  There  had  been  wild 
moments  when  she  wished  she  could  keep  him  company 
on  that  journey  into  the  unknown.  But  grief  seldom 
kills.  Sometimes  it  hardens.  Always  it  works  a 
change,  a  greater  or  less  revamping  of  the  spirit.  It 
was  so  with  Stella  Fyfe,  although  she  was  not  keenly 
aware  of  any  forthright  metamorphosis.  She  was,  for 
the  present,  too  actively  involved  in  material  changes. 

The  storm  and  stress  of  that  period  between  her  yield- 
ing to  the  lure  of  Monohan's  personality  and  the  burial 
of  her  boy  had  sapped  her  of  all  emotional  reaction. 
When  they  had  performed  the  last  melancholy  service 
for  him  and  went  back  to  the  bungalow  at  Cougar  Point, 
she  was  as  physically  exhausted,  as  near  the  limit  of 
numbed  endurance  in  mind  and  body  as  it  is  possible 


FREE   AS   THE   WIND  239 

for  a  young  and  healthy  woman  to  become.  And  when 
a  measure  of  her  natural  vitality  re-asserted  itself,  she 
laid  her  course.  She  could  no  more  abide  the  place 
where  she  was  than  a  pardoned  convict  can  abide  the 
prison  that  has  restrained  him.  It  was  empty  now  of 
everything  that  made  life  tolerable,  the  hushed  rooms  a 
constant  reminder  of  her  loss.  She  would  catch  herself 
listening  for  that  baby  voice,  for  those  pattering  foot- 
steps, and  realize  with  a  sickening  pang  that  she  would 
never  hear  them  again. 

The  snapping  of  that  last  link  served  to  deepen  and 
widen  the  gulf  between  her  and  Fyfe.  He  went  about 
his  business  grave  and  preoccupied.  They  seldom 
talked  together.  She  knew  that  his  boy  had  meant  a 
lot  to  him ;  but  he  had  his  work.  He  did  not  have  to  sit 
with  folded  hands  and  think  until  thought  drove  him 
into  the  bogs  of  melancholy. 

And  so  the  break  came.  With  desperate  abruptness 
Stella  told  him  that  she  could  not  stay,  that  feeling  as 
she  did,  she  despised  herself  for  unwilling  acceptance 
of  everything  where  she  could  give  nothing  in  return, 
that  the  original  mistake  of  their  marriage  would  never 
be  rectified  by  a  perpetuation  of  that  mistake. 

"What's  the  use,  Jack?"  she  finished.  "You  and 
I  are  so  made  that  we  can't  be  neutral.  We've  got  to 
be  thoroughly  in  accord,  or  we  have  to  part.  There's 
no  chance  for  us  to  get  back  to  the  old  way  of  living. 
I  don't  want  to ;  I  can't.  I  could  never  be  complaisant 
and  agreeable  again.  We  might  as  well  come  to  a  full 
stop,  and  each  go  his  own  way." 

She  had  braced  herself  for  a  clash  of  wills.     There 


24o  BIG   TIMBER 

was  none.  Fyfe  listened  to  her,  looked  at  her  long  and 
earnestly,  and  in  the  end  made  a  quick,  impatient  ges- 
ture with  his  hands. 

"  Your  life's  your  own  to  make  what  you  please  of, 
now  that  the  kid's  no  longer  a  factor,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  Have  you  made  any 
plans?" 

"  I  have  to  live,  naturally,"  she  replied.  "  Since  I've 
got  my  voice  back,  I  feel  sure  I  can  turn  that  to  ac- 
count. I  should  like  to  go  to  Seattle  first  and  look 
around.  It  can  be  supposed  I  have  gone  visiting,  until 
one  or  the  other  of  us  takes  a  decisive  legal  step." 

"  That's  simple  enough,"  he  returned,  after  a  min- 
ute's reflection.  "  Well,  if  it  has  to  be,  for  God's  sake 
let's  get  it  over  with." 

And  now  it  was  over  with.  Fyfe  remarked  once  that 
with  them  luckily  it  was  not  a  question  of  money.  But 
for  Stella  it  was  indeed  an  economic  problem.  When 
she  left  Roaring  Lake,  her  private  account  contained 
over  two  thousand  dollars.  Her  last  act  in  Vancouver 
was  to  re-deposit  that  to  her  husband's  credit.  Only 
so  did  she  feel  that  she  could  go  free  of  all  obligation, 
clean-handed,  without  stultifying  herself  in  her  own 
eyes.  She  had  treasured  as  a  keepsake  the  only  money 
she  had  ever  earned  in  her  life,  her  brother's  check  for 
two  hundred  and  seventy  dollars,  the  wages  of  that 
sordid  period  in  the  cookhouse.  She  had  it  now.  Two 
hundred  and  seventy  dollars  capital.  She  hadn't  sold 
herself  for  that.  She  had  given  honest  value,  double 
and  treble,  in  the  sweat  of  her  brow.  She  was  here  now, 
in  a  five-dollar-a-week  housekeeping  room,  foot-loose, 


FREE   AS    THE   WIND  241 

free  as  the  wind.  That  was  Fyfe's  last  word  to  her. 
He  had  come  with  her  to  Seattle  and  waited  patiently 
at  a  hotel  until  she  found  a  place  to  live.  Then  he  had 
gone  away  without  protest. 

"  Well,  Stella,"  he  had  said,  "  I  guess  this  is  the  end 
of  our  experiment.  In  six  months, —  under  the  State 
law, —  you  can  be  legally  free  by  a  technicality.  So 
far  as  I'm  concerned,  you're  free  as  the  wind  right  now. 
Good  luck  to  you." 

He  turned  away  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  a  smile  that 
his  eyes  belied,  and  she  watched  him  walk  to  the  corner 
through  the  same  sort  of  driving  rain  that  now  pelted 
in  gray  lines  against  her  window. 

She  shook  herself  impatiently  out  of  that  retrospect. 
It  was  done.  Life,  as  her  brother  had  prophesied,  was 
no  kid-glove  affair.  The  future  was  her  chief  concern 
now,  not  the  past.  Yet  that  immediate  past,  bits  of  it, 
would  now  and  then  blaze  vividly  before  her  mental 
vision.  The  only  defense  against  that  lay  in  action,  in 
something  to  occupy  her  mind  and  hands.  If  that 
motive,  the  desire  to  shun  mental  reflexes  that  brought 
pain,  were  not  sufficient,  there  was  the  equally  potent 
necessity  to  earn  her  bread.  Never  again  would  she 
be  any  man's  dependent,  a  pampered  doll,  a  parasite 
trading  on  her  sex.  They  were  hard  names  she  called 
herself. 

Meantime  she  had  not  been  idle ;  neither  had  she  come 
to  Seattle  on  a  blind  impulse.  She  knew  of  a  singing 
teacher  there  whose  reputation  was  more  than  local,  a 
vocal  authority  whose  word  carried  weight  far  beyond 
Puget  Sound.  First  she  meant  to  see  him,  get  an  im- 


242  BIG    TIMBER 

partial  estimate  of  the  value  of  her  voice,  of  the  training 
she  would  need.  Through  him  she  hoped  to  get  in  touch 
with  some  outlet  for  the  only  talent  she  possessed.  And 
she  had  received  more  encouragement  than  she  dared 
hope.  He  listened  to  her  sing,  then  tested  the  range 
and  flexibility  of  her  voice. 

"  Amazing,"  he  said  frankly.  "  You  have  a  rare 
natural  endowment.  If  you  have  the  determination  and 
the  sense  of  dramatic  values  that  musical  discipline  will 
give  you,  you  should  go  far.  You  should  find  your 
place  in  opera." 

"  That's  my  ambition,"  Stella  answered.  "  But  that 
requires  time  and  training.  And  that  means  money.  I 
have  to  earn  it." 

The  upshot  of  that  conversation  was  an  appointment 
to  meet  the  manager  of  a  photoplay  house,  who  wanted 
a  singer.  Stella  looked  at  her  watch  now,  and  rose  to 
go.  Money,  always  money,  if  one  wanted  to  get  any- 
where, she  reflected  cynically.  No  wonder  men  strug- 
gled desperately  for  that  token  of  power. 

She  reached  the  Charteris  Theater,  and  a  doorman 
gave  her  access  to  the  dim  interior.  There  was  a  light 
in  the  operator's  cage  high  at  the  rear,  another  shaded 
glow  at  the  piano,  where  a  young  man  with  hair  brushed 
sleekly  back  chewed  gum  incessantly  while  he  practiced 
picture  accompaniments.  The  place  looked  desolate, 
with  its  empty  seats,  its  bald  stage  front  with  the  empty 
picture  screen.  Stella  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  man- 
ager. He  came  in  a  few  minutes ;  his  manner  was  very 
curt,  business-like.  He  wanted  her  to  sing  a  popular 
song,  a  bit  from  a  Verdi  opera,  Gounod's  Ave  Maria, 


FREE   AS    THE   WIND  243 

so  that  he  could  get  a  line  on  what  she  could  do.  He 
appeared  to  be  a  pessimist  in  regard  to  singers. 

"  Take  the  stage  right  there,"  he  instructed.  "  Just 
as  if  the  spot  was  on  you.  Now  then." 

It  wasn't  a  heartening  process  to  stand  there  facing 
the  gum-chewing  pianist,  and  the  manager's  cigar  glow- 
ing redly  five  rows  back,  and  the  silent  emptinesses  be- 
yond,—  much  like  singing  into  the  mouth  of  a  gloomy 
cave.  It  was  more  or  less  a  critical  moment  for  Stella. 
But  she  was  keenly  aware  that  she  had  to  make  good  in 
a  small  way  before  she  could  grasp  the  greater  oppor- 
tunity, so  she  did  her  best,  and  her  best  was  no  mediocre 
performance.  She  had  never  sung  in  a  place  designed 
to  show  off  —  or  to  show  up  —  a  singer's  quality.  She 
was  even  a  bit  astonished  herself. 

She  elected  to  sing  the  Ave  Maria  first.  Her  voice 
went  pealing  to  the  domed  ceiling  as  sweet  as  a  silver 
bell,  resonant  as  a  trumpet.  When  the  last  note  died 
away,  there  was  a  momentary  silence.  Then  the  ac- 
companist looked  up  at  her,  frankly  admiring. 

"  You're  some  warbler,"  he  said  emphatically,  "  be- 
lieve me." 

Behind  him  the  manager's  cigar  lost  its  glow.  He 
remained  silent.  The  pianist  struck  up  "  Let's  Murder 
Care,"  a  rollicking  trifle  from  a  Broadway  hit.  Last 
of  all  he  thumped,  more  or  less  successfully,  through 
the  accompaniment  to  an  aria  that  had  in  it  vocal  gym- 
nastics as  well  as  melody. 

"  Come  up  to  the  office,  Mrs.  Fyfe,"  Howard  said, 
with  a  singular  change  from  his  first  manner. 

"  I  can  give  you  an  indefinite  engagement  at  thirty 


244  BIG   TIMBER 

a  week,"  he  made  a  blunt  offer.  "  You  can  sing. 
You're  worth  more,  but  right  now  I  can't  pay  more. 
If  you  pull  business, —  and  I  rather  think  you  will, — 
I  may  be  able  to  raise  you.  Thirty  a  week  —  and  you'll 
have  to  sing  twice  in  the  afternoon  and  twice  in  the 
evening." 

Stella  considered  briefly.  Thirty  dollars  a  week 
meant  a  great  deal  more  than  mere  living,  as  she  meant 
to  live.  And  it  was  a  start,  a  move  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. She  accepted;  they  discussed  certain  details. 
She  did  not  care  to  court  publicity  under  her  legal 
name,  so  they  agreed  that  she  should  be  billed  as 
Madame  Benton, —  the  Madame  being  Howard's  sug- 
gestion,—  and  she  took  her  leave. 

Upon  the  Monday  following  Stella  stood  for  the  first 
time  in  a  fierce  white  glare  that  dazzled  her  and  so  shut 
off  partially  her  vision  of  the  rows  and  rows  of  faces. 
She  went  on  with  a  horrible  slackness  in  her  knees,  a  dry 
feeling  in  her  throat ;  and  she  was  not  sure  whether  she 
would  sing  or  fly.  When  she  had  finished  her  first  song 
and  bowed  herself  into  the  wings,  she  felt  her  heart  leap 
and  hammer  at  the  hand-clapping  that  grew  and  grew 
till  it  was  like  the  beat  of  ocean  surf. 

Howard  came  running  to  meet  her. 

"  You've  sure  got  'em  going,"  he  laughed.  "  Fine 
work.  Go  out  and  give  'em  some  more." 

In  time  she  grew  accustomed  to  these  things,  to  the 
applause  she  never  failed  to  get,  to  the  white  beam  that 
beat  down  from  the  picture  cage,  to  the  eager,  upturned 
faces  in  the  first  rows.  Her  confidence  grew;  ambition 
began  to  glow  like  a  flame  within  her.  She  had  gone 


FREE   AS    THE   WIND  245 

through  the  primary  stages  of  voice  culture,  and  she 
was  following  now  a  method  of  practice  which  produced 
results.  She  could  see  and  feel  that  herself.  Some- 
times the  fear  that  her  voice  might  go  as  it  had  once 
gone  would  make  her  tremble.  But  that,  her  teacher 
assured  her,  was  a  remote  chance. 

So  she  gained  in  those  weeks  something  of  her  old 
poise.  Inevitably,  she  was  very  lonely  at  times.  But 
she  fought  against  that  with  the  most  effective  weapon 
she  knew, —  incessant  activity.  She  was  always  busy. 
There  was  a  rented  piano  now  sitting  in  the  opposite 
corner  from  the  gas  stove  on  which  she  cooked  her  meals. 
Howard  kept  his  word.  She  "  pulled  business,"  and  he 
raised  her  to  forty  a  week  and  offered  her  a  contract 
which  she  refused,  because  other  avenues,  bigger  and 
better  than  singing  in  a  motion-picture  house,  were  ten- 
tatively opening. 

December  was  waning  when  she  came  to  Seattle.  In 
the  following  weeks  her  only  contact  with  the  past, 
beyond  the  mill  of  her  own  thoughts,  was  an  item  in 
the  Seattle  Times  touching  upon  certain  litigation  in 
which  Fyfe  was  involved.  Briefly,  Monohan,  under  the 
firm  name  of  the  Abbey-Monohan  Timber  Company,  was 
suing  Fyfe  for  heavy  damages  for  the  loss  of  certain 
booms  of  logs  blown  up  and  set  adrift  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Tyee  River.  There  was  appended  an  account  of 
the  clash  over  the  closed  channel  and  the  killing  of 
Billy  Dale.  No  one  had  been  brought  to  book  for  that 
yet.  Any  one  of  sixty  men  might  have  fired  the  shot. 

It  made  Stella  wince,  for  it  took  her  back  to  that 
dreadful  day.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  that  Billy 


246  BIG   TIMBER 

Dale's  blood  lay  on  her  and  Monohan,  neither  could  she 
stifle  an  uneasy  apprehension  that  something  more 
grievous  yet  might  happen  on  Roaring  Lake.  But  at 
least  she  had  done  what  she  could.  If  she  were  the 
flame,  she  had  removed  herself  from  the  powder  maga- 
zine. Fyfe  had  pulled  his  cedar  crew  off  the  Tyee  be- 
fore she  left.  If  aggression  came,  it  must  come  from 
one  direction. 

They  were  both  abstractions  now,  she  tried  to  assure 
herself.  The  glamour  of  Monohan  was  fading,  and  she 
could  not  say  why.  She  did  not  know  if  his  presence 
would  stir  again  all  that  old  tumult  of  feeling,  but  she 
did  know  that  she  was  cleaving  to  a  measure  of  peace, 
of  serenity  of  mind,  and  she  did  not  want  him  or  any 
other  man  to  disturb  it.  She  told  herself  that  she  had 
never  loved  Jack  Fyfe.  She  recognized  in  him  a  lot 
that  a  woman  is  held  to  admire,  but  there  were  also 
qualities  in  him  that  had  often  baffled  and  sometimes 
frightened  her.  She  wondered  sometimes  what  he  really 
thought  of  her  and  her  actions,  why,  when  she  had  been 
nerved  to  a  desperate  struggle  for  her  freedom,  if  she 
could  gain  it  no  other  way,  he  had  let  her  go  so  easily? 

After  all,  she  reflected  cynically,  love  comes  and  goes, 
but  one  is  driven  to  pursue  material  advantages  while 
life  lasts.  And  she  wondered,  even  while  the  thought 
took  form  in  her  mind,  how  long  she  would  retain  that 
point  of  view. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ECHOES 

In  the  early  days  of  February  Stella  had  an  unex- 
pected visitor.  The  landlady  called  her  to  the  common 
telephone,  and  when  she  took  up  the  receiver,  Linda 
Abbey's  voice  came  over  the  wire. 

"  When  can  I  see  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I'll  only  be 
here  to-day  and  to-morrow." 

"  Now,  if  you  like,"  Stella  responded.  "  I'm  free 
until  two-thirty." 

"  I'll  be  right  over,"  Linda  said.  "  I'm  only  about 
ten  minutes'  drive  from  where  you  are." 

Stella  went  back  to  her  room  both  glad  and  sorry: 
glad  to  hear  a  familiar,  friendly  voice  amid  this  loneli- 
ness which  sometimes  seemed  almost  unendurable ;  sorry 
because  her  situation  involved  some  measure  of  explana- 
tion to  Linda.  That  hurt. 

But  she  was  not  prepared  for  the  complete  under- 
standing of  the  matter  Linda  Abbey  tacitly  exhibited 
before  they  had  exchanged  a  dozen  sentences. 

"How  did  you  know?"  Stella  asked.  "Who  told 
you?" 

"  No  one.  I  drew  my  own  conclusions  when  I  heard 
you  had  gone  to  Seattle,"  Linda  replied.  "  I  saw  it 


248  BIG    TIMBER 

coming.  My  dear,  I'm  not  blind,  and  I  was  with  you  a 
lot  last  summer.  I  knew  you  too  well  to  believe  you'd 
make  a  move  while  you  had  your  baby  to  think  of. 
When  he  was  gone  —  well,  I  looked  for  anything  to 
happen." 

"  Still,  nothing  much  has  happened,"  Stella  remarked 
with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  "  except  the  inevitable  break 
between  a  man  and  a  woman  when  there's  no  longer  any 
common  bond  between  them.  It's  better  so.  Jack  has 
a  multiplicity  of  interests.  He  can  devote  himself  to 
them  without  the  constant  irritation  of  an  unresponsive 
wife.  We've  each  taken  our  own  road.  That's  all 
that  has  happened." 

"  So  far,"  Linda  murmured.  "  It's  a  pity.  I  liked 
that  big,  silent  man  of  yours.  I  like  you  both.  It 
seems  a  shame  things  have  to  turn  out  this  way  just 
because  —  oh,  well.  Charlie  and  I  used  to  plan  things 
for  the  four  of  us,  little  family  combinations  when  we 
settled  down  on  the  lake.  Honestly,  Stella,  do  you 
think  it's  worth  while?  I  never  could  see  you  as  a  sen- 
timental little  chump,  letting  a  momentary  aberration 
throw  your  whole  life  out  of  gear." 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  have?"  Stella  asked 
gravely. 

Linda  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively. 

"  I  suppose  it  looks  silly,  if  not  worse,  to  you,"  Stella 
said.  "  But  I  can't  help  what  you  think.  My  reason 
has  dictated  every  step  I've  taken  since  last  fall.  If  I'd 
really  given  myself  up  to  sentimentalism,  the  Lord  only 
knows  what  might  have  happened." 

"  Exactly,"  Linda  responded  drily.     "  Now,  there's 


ECHOES  249 

no  use  beating  around  the  bush.  We  get  so  in  that 
habit  as  a  matter  of  politeness, —  our  sort  of  people, — 
that  we  seldom  say  in  plain  English  just  what  we  really 
mean.  Surely,  you  and  I  know  each  other  well  enough 
to  be  frank,  even  if  it's  painful.  Very  likely  you'll  say 
I'm  a  self-centered  little  beast,  but  I'm  going  to  marry 
your  brother,  my  dear,  and  I'm  going  to  marry  him. 
in  the  face  of  considerable  family  opposition.  I  am 
selfish.  Can  you  show  me  any  one  who  isn't  largely 
swayed  by  motives  of  self-interest,  if  it  comes  to  that? 
I  want  to  be  happy.  I  want  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
my  own  people,  so  that  Charlie  will  have  some  of  the 
opportunities  dad  can  so  easily  put  in  his  way.  Charlie 
isn't  rich.  He  hasn't  done  anything,  according  to  the 
Abbey  standard,  but  make  a  fair  start.  Dad's  patron- 
izing as  sin,  and  mother  merely  tolerates  the  idea  be- 
cause she  knows  that  I'll  marry  Charlie  in  any  case, 
opposition  or  no  opposition.  I  came  over  expressly  to 
warn  you,  Stella.  Anything  like  scandal  now  would  be 
—  well,  it  would  upset  so  many  things." 

"  You  needn't  be  uneasy,"  Stella  answered  coldly. 
"  There  isn't  any  foundation  for  scandal.  There  won't 
be." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Linda  returned.  "  Walter  Mono- 
han  came  to  Seattle  a  boat  ahead  of  me.  In  fact,  that's 
largely  why  I  came." 

Stella  flushed  angrily. 

"  Well,  what  of  that?  "  she  demanded.  "  His  move- 
ments are  nothing  to  me." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Linda  rejoined.  She  had  taken  off 
her  gloves  and  was  rolling  them  nervously  in  a  ball. 


250  BIG   TIMBER 

Now  she  dropped  them  and  impulsively  grasped  Stella's 
hands. 

"  Stella,  Stella,"  she  cried.  "  Don't  get  that  hurt, 
angry  look.  I  don't  like  to  say  these  things  to  you, 
but  I  feel  that  I  have  to.  I'm  worried,  and  I'm  afraid 
for  you  and  your  husband,  for  Charlie  and  myself,  for 
all  of  us  together.  Walter  Monohan  is  as  dangerous 
as  any  man  who's  unscrupulous  and  rich  and  absolutely 
self-centered  can  possibly  be.  I  know  the  glamour  of 
the  man.  I  used  to  feel  it  myself.  It  didn't  go  very 
far  with  me,  because  his  attention  wandered  away  from 
me  before  my  feelings  were  much  involved,  and  I  had  a 
chance  to  really  fathom  them  and  him.  He  has  a  queer 
gift  of  making  women  care  for  him,  and  he  trades  on  it 
deliberately.  He  doesn't  play  fair ;  he  doesn't  mean  to. 
Oh,  I  know  so  many  cruel  things,  despicable  things,  he's 
done.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Stella.  I'm  not 
saying  this  just  to  wound  you.  I'm  simply  putting 
you  on  your  guard.  You  can't  play  with  fire  and  not 
get  burned.  If  you've  been  nursing  any  feeling  for 
Walter  Monohan,  crush  it,  cut  it  out,  just  as  you'd 
have  a  surgeon  cut  out  a  cancer.  Entirely  apart  from 
any  question  of  Jack  Fyfe,  don't  let  this  man  play  any 
part  whatever  in  your  life.  You'll  be  sorry  if  you  do. 
There's  not  a  man  or  woman  whose  relations  with  Mono- 
han have  been  intimate  enough  to  enable  them  to  really 
know  the  man  and  his  motives  who  doesn't  either  hate 
or  fear  or  despise  him,  and  sometimes  all  three." 

"  That's  a  sweeping  indictment,"  Stella  said  stiffly. 
"  And  you're  very  earnest.  Yet  I  can  hardly  take  your 
word  at  its  face  value.  If  he's  so  impossible  a  person, 


ECHOES  251 

how  does  it  come  that  you  and  your  people  countenanced 
him  socially?  Besides,  it's  all  rather  unnecessary, 
Linda.  I'm  not  the  least  bit  likely  to  do  anything  that 
will  reflect  on  your  prospective  husband,  which  is  what 
it  simmers  down  to,  isn't  it?  I've  been  pulled  and 
hauled  this  way  and  that  ever  since  I've  been  on  the 
coast,  simply  because  I  was  dependent  on  some  one  else 
—  first  Charlie  and  then  Jack  —  for  the  bare  neces- 
sities of  life.  When  there's  mutual  affection,  com- 
panionship, all  those  intimate  interests  that  marriage 
is  supposed  to  imply,  I  daresay  a  woman  gives  full 
measure  for  all  she  receives.  If  she  doesn't,  she's  simply 
a  sponge,  clinging  to  a  man  for  what's  in  it.  I  couldn't 
bear  that.  You've  been  rather  painfully  frank ;  so  will 
I  be.  One  unhappy  marriage  is  quite  enough  for  me. 
Looking  back,  I  can  see  that  even  if  Walter  Monohan 
hadn't  stirred  a  feeling  in  me  which  I  don't  deny, — 
but  which  I'm  not  nearly  so  sure  of  as  I  was  some  time 
ago, —  I'd  have  come  to  just  this  stage,  anyway.  I 
was  drifting  all  the  time.  My  baby  and  the  conven- 
tions, that  reluctance  most  women  have  to  make  a  clean 
sweep  of  all  the  ties  they've  been  schooled  to  think  un- 
breakable, kept  me  moving  along  the  old  grooves.  It 
would  have  come  about  a  little  more  gradually,  that's 
all.  But  I  have  broken  away,  and  I'm  going  to  live 
my  own  life  after  a  fashion,  and  I'm  going  to  achieve 
independence  of  some  sort.  I'm  never  going  to  be  any 
man's  mate  again  until  I'm  sure  of  myself  —  and  of 
him.  There's  my  philosophy  of  life,  as  simply  as  I  can 
put  it.  I  don't  think  you  need  to  worry  about  me. 
Right  now  I  couldn't  muster  up  the  least  shred  of  pas- 


252  BIG   TIMBER 

sion  of  any  sort.  I  seem  to  have  felt  so  much  since 
last  summer,  that  I'm  like  a  sponge  that's  been  squeezed 
dry." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  dear,"  Linda  said  wistfully. 
"  A  woman's  heart  is  a  queer  thing,  though.  When 
you  compare  the  two  men  —  Oh,  well,  I  know  Walter 
so  thoroughly,  and  you  don't.  You  couldn't  ever  have 
cared  much  for  Jack." 

"  That  hasn't  any  bearing  on  it  now,"  Stella  an- 
swered. "  I'm  still  his  wife,  and  I  respect  him,  and  I've 
got  a  stubborn  sort  of  pride.  There  won't  be  any 
divorce  proceedings  or  any  scandal.  I'm  free  person- 
ally to  work  out  my  own  economic  destiny.  That,  right 
now,  is  engrossing  enough  for  me." 

Linda  sat  a  minute,  thoughtful. 

"  So  you  think  my  word  for  Walter  Monohan's  devil- 
try isn't  worth  much,"  she  said.  "Well,  I  could  fur- 
nish plenty  of  details.  But  I  don't  think  I  shall.  Not 
because  you'd  be  angry,  but  because  I  don't  think  you're 
quite  as  blind  as  I  believed.  And  I'm  not  a  natural 
gossip.  Aside  from  that,  he's  quite  too  busy  on  Roar- 
ing Lake  for  it  to  mean  any  good.  He  never  gets  active 
like  that  unless  he  has  some  personal  axe  to  grind.  In 
this  case,  I  can  grasp  his  motive  easily  enough.  Jack 
Fyfe  may  not  have  said  a  word  to  you,  but  he  certainly 
knows  Monohan.  They've  clashed  before,  so  I've  been 
told.  Jack  probably  saw  what  was  growing  on  you, 
and  I  don't  think  he'd  hesitate  to  tell  Monohan  to  walk 
away  around.  If  he  did, —  or  if  you  definitely  turned 
Monohan  down ;  you  see  I'm  rather  in  the  dark, —  he'd 
go  to  any  length  to  play  even  with  Fyfe.  When  Mono- 


ECHOES  253 

ban  wants  anything,  he  looks  upon  it  as  his  own;  and 
when  you  wound  his  vanity,  you've  stabbed  him  in  his 
most  vital  part.  He  never  rests  then  until  he's  paid 
the  score.  Father  was  always  a  little  afraid  of  him. 
I  think  that's  the  chief  reason  for  selling  out  his  Roar- 
ing Lake  interests  to  Monohan.  He  didn't  want  to  be 
involved  in  whatever  Monohan  contemplated  doing. 
He  has  a  wholesome  respect  for  your  husband's  rather 
volcanic  ability.  Monohan  has,  too.  But  he  has  al- 
ways hated  Jack  Fyfe.  To  my  knowledge  for  three 
years, —  prior  to  pulling  you  out  of  the  water  that 
time, —  he  never  spoke  of  Jack  Fyfe  without  a  sneer. 
He  hates  any  one  who  beats  him  at  anything.  That 
ruction  on  the  Tyee  is  a  sample.  He'll  spend  money, 
risk  lives,  all  but  his  own,  do  anything  to  satisfy  a 
grudge.  That's  one  of  the  things  that  worries  me. 
Charlie  will  be  into  anything  that  Fyfe  is,  for  Fyfe's  his 
friend.  I  admire  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  but  I  don't 
want  our  little  applecart  upset  in  the  sort  of  struggle 
Fyfe  and  Monohan  may  stage.  I  don't  even  know  what 
form  it  will  ultimately  take,  except  that  from  certain 
indications  he'll  try  to  make  Fyfe  spend  money  faster 
than  he  can  make  it,  perhaps  in  litigation  over  timber, 
over  anything  that  offers,  by  making  trouble  in  his 
camps,  harassing  him  at  every  turn.  He  can,  you 
know.  He  has  immense  resources.  Oh,  well,  I'm  satis- 
fied, Stella,  that  you're  a  much  wiser  girl  than  I  thought 
when  I  knew  you'd  left  Jack  Fyfe.  I'm  quite  sure  now 
you  aren't  the  sort  of  woman  Monohan  could  wind 
around  his  little  finger.  But  I'm  sure  he'll  try.  You'll 
see,  and  remember  what  I  tell  you.  There,  I  think  I'd 


254  BIG   TIMBER 

better  run  along.     You're  not  angry,  are  you,  Stella  ?  " 

"  You  mean  well  enough,  I  suppose,"  Stella  answered. 
"  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  you've  made  me  feel  rather 
nasty,  Linda.  I  don't  want  to  talk  or  even  think  of 
these  things.  The  best  thing  you  and  Charlie  and  Jack 
Fyfe  could  do  is  to  forget  such  a  discontented  pendulum 
as  I  ever  existed.1" 

"  Oh,  bosh ! "  Linda  exclaimed,  as  she  drew  on  her 
gloves.  "  That's  sheer  nonsense.  You're  going  to  be 
my  big  sister  in  three  months.  Things  will  work  out. 
If  you  felt  you  had  to  take  this  step  for  your  own  good, 
no  one  can  blame  you.  It  needn't  make  any  difference 
in  our  friendship." 

On  the  threshold  she  turned  on  her  heel.  "  Don't 
forget  what  I've  said,"  she  repeated.  "  Don't  trust 
Monohan.  Not  an  inch." 

Stella  flung  herself  angrily  into  a  chair  when  the  door 
closed  on  Linda  Abbey.  Her  eyes  snapped.  She  re- 
sented being  warned  and  cautioned,  as  if  she  were  some 
moral  weakling  who  could  not  be  trusted  to  make  the 
most  obvious  distinctions.  Particularly  did  she  resent 
having  Monohan  flung  in  her  teeth,  when  she  was  in  a 
way  to  forget  him,  to  thrust  the  strange  charm  of  the 
man  forever  out  of  her  thoughts.  Why,  she  asked  bit- 
terly, couldn't  other  people  do  as  Jack  Fyfe  had  done: 
cut  the  Gordian  knot  at  one  stroke  and  let  it  rest  at 
that? 

So  Monohan  was  in  Seattle?  Would  he  try  to  see 
her? 

Stella  had  not  minced  matters  with  herself  when  she 
left  Roaring  Lake.  Dazed  and  shaken  by  suffering, 


ECHOES  255 

nevertheless  she  knew  that  she  would  not  always  suffer, 
that  in  time  she  would  get  back  to  that  normal  state  in 
which  the  human  ego  diligently  pursues  happiness.  In 
time  the  legal  tie  between  herself  and  Jack  Fyfe  would 
cease  to  exist.  If  Monohan  cared  for  her  as  she 
thought  he  cared,  a  year  or  two  more  or  less  mattered 
little.  They  had  all  their  lives  before  them.  In  the 
long  run,  the  errors  and  mistakes  of  that  upheaval  would 
grow  dim,  be  as  nothing.  Jack  Fyfe  would  shrug  his 
shoulders  and  forget,  and  in  due  time  he  would  find  a 
fitter  mate,  one  as  loyal  as  he  deserved.  And  why  might 
not  she,  who  had  never  loved  him,  whose  marriage  to  him 
had  been  only  a  climbing  out  of  the  fire  into  the  frying- 
pan? 

So  that  with  all  her  determination  to  make  the  most 
of  her  gift  of  song,  so  that  she  would  never  again  be 
buffeted  by  material  urgencies  in  a  material  world, 
Stella  had  nevertheless  been  listening  with  the  ear  of 
her  mind,  so  to  speak,  for  a  word  from  Monohan  to  say 
that  he  understood,  and  that  all  was  well. 

Paradoxically,  she  had  not  expected  to  hear  that 
word.  Once  in  Seattle,  away  from  it  all,  there  slowly 
grew  upon  her  the  conviction  that  in  Monohan's  fine 
avowal  and  renunciation  he  had  only  followed  the  cue 
she  had  given.  In  all  else  he  had  played  his  own  hand. 
She  couldn't  forget  Billy  Dale.  If  the  motive  behind 
that  bloody  culmination  were  thwarted  love,  it  was  a 
thing  to  shrink  from.  It  seemed  to  her  now,  forcing 
herself  to  reason  with  cold-blooded  logic,  that  Monohan 
desired  her  less  than  he  hated  Fyfe's  possession  of  her ; 
that  she  was  merely  an  added  factor  in  the  breaking 


256  BIG   TIMBER 

out  of  a  struggle  for  mastery  between  two  diverse  and 
dominant  men.  Every  sign  and  token  went  to  show 
that  the  pot  of  hate  had  long  been  simmering.  She  had 
only  contributed  to  its  boiling  over. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  sighed,  "  it's  out  of  my  hands  alto- 
gether now.  I'm  sorry,  but  being  sorry  doesn't  make 
any  difference.  I'm  the  least  factor,  it  seems,  in  the 
•whole  muddle.  A  woman  isn't  much  more  than  an  inci- 
dent in  a  man's  life,  after  all." 

She  dressed  to  go  to  the  Charteris,  for  her  day's  work 
was  about  to  begin.  As  so  often  happens  in  life's  un- 
easy flow,  periods  of  calm  are  succeeded  by  events  in 
close  sequence.  Howard  and  his  wife  insisted  that 
Stella  join  them  at  supper  after  the  show.  They  were 
decent  folk  who  accorded  frank  admiration  to  her  voice 
and  her  personality.  They  had  been  kind  to  her  in 
many  little  ways,  and  she  was  glad  to  accept. 

At  eleven  a  taxi  deposited  them  at  the  door  of  Wain's. 
The  Seattle  of  yesterday  needs  no  introduction  to 
Wain's,  and  its  counterpart  can  be  found  in  any  cosmo- 
politan, seaport  city.  It  is  a  place  of  subtle  distinc- 
tion, tucked  away  on  one  of  the  lower  hill  streets,  where 
after-theater  parties  and  nighthawks  with  an  eye  for 
pretty  women,  an  ear  for  sensuous  music,  and  a  taste 
for  good  food,  go  when  they  have  money  to  spend. 

Ensconced  behind  a  potted  palm,  with  a  waiter  tak- 
ing Howard's  order,  Stella  let  her  gaze  travel  over  the 
diners.  She  brought  up  with  a  repressed  start  at  a 
table  but  four  removes  from  her  own,  her  eyes  resting 
upon  the  unmistakable  profile  of  Walter  Monohan.  He 
was  dining  vis-a-vis  with  a  young  woman  chiefly  re- 


ECHOES  257 

markable  for  a  profusion  of  yellow  hair  and  a  blazing 
diamond  in  the  lobe  of  each  ear, —  a  plump,  blond,  viva- 
cious person  of  a  type  that  Stella,  even  with  her  limited 
experience,  found  herself  instantly  classifying. 

A  bottle  of  wine  rested  in  an  iced  dish  between  them. 
Monohan  was  toying  with  the  stem  of  a  half-emptied 
glass,  smiling  at  his  companion.  The  girl  leaned 
toward  him,  speaking  rapidly,  pouting.  Monohan 
nodded,  drained  his  glass,  signaled  a  waiter.  When  she 
got  into  an  elaborate  opera  cloak  and  Monohan  into  his 
Inverness,  they  went  out,  the  plump,  jeweled  hand  rest- 
ing familiarly  on  Monohan's  arm.  Stella  breathed  a 
sigh  of  relief  as  they  passed,  looking  straight  ahead. 
She  watched  through  the  upper  half  of  the  cafe  window 
and  saw  a  machine  draw  against  the  curb,  saw  the  be- 
scarfed  yellow  head  enter  and  Monohan's  silk  hat  follow. 
Then  she  relaxed,  but  she  had  little  appetite  for  her 
food.  A  hot  wave  of  shamed  disgust  kept  coming  over 
her.  She  felt  sick,  physically  revolted.  Very  likely 
Monohan  had  put  her  in  that  class,  in  his  secret 
thought.  She  was  glad  when  the  evening  ended,  and 
the  Howards  left  her  at  her  own  doorstep. 

On  the  carpet  where  it  had  been  thrust  by  the  post- 
man under  the  door,  a  white  square  caught  her  eye,  and 
she  picked  it  up  before  she  switched  on  the  light.  And 
she  got  a  queer  little  shock  when  the  light  fell  on  the 
envelope,  for  it  was  addressed  in  Jack  Fyfe's  angular 
handwriting. 

She  tore  it  open.  It  was  little  enough  in  the  way  of 
a  letter,  a  couple  of  lines  scrawled  across  a  sheet  of 
note-paper. 


258  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Dear  Girl: 

"  I  was  in  Seattle  a  few  days  ago  and  heard  you 
sing.  Here's  hoping  good  luck  rides  with  you. 

"  JACK." 

Stella  sat  down  by  the  window.  Outside,  the  ever- 
present  Puget  Sound  rain  drove  against  wall  and  roof 
and  sidewalk,  gathered  in  wet,  glistening  pools  in  the 
street.  Through  that  same  window  she  had  watched 
Jack  Fyfe  walk  out  of  her  life  three  months  ago  with- 
out a  backward  look,  sturdily,  silently,  uncomplaining. 
He  hadn't  whined,  he  wasn't  whining  now, —  only  fling- 
ing a  cheerful  word  out  of  the  blank  spaces  of  his  own 
life  into  the  blank  spaces  of  hers.  Stella  felt  something 
warm  and  wet  steal  down  her  cheeks. 

She  crumpled  the  letter  with  a  sudden,  spasmodic 
clenching  of  her  hand.  A  lump  rose  chokingly  in  her 
throat.  She  stabbed  at  the  light  switch  and  threw  her- 
self on  the  bed,  sobbing  her  heart's  cry  in  the  dusky 
quiet.  And  she  could  not  have  told  why,  except  that 
she  had  been  overcome  by  a  miserably  forlorn  feeling; 
all  the  mental  props  she  relied  upon  were  knocked  out 
from  under  her.  Somehow  those  few  scrawled  words 
had  flung  swiftly  before  her,  like  a  picture  on  a  screen, 
a  vision  of  her  baby  toddling  uncertainly  across  the 
porch  of  the  white  bungalow.  And  she  could  not  bear 
to  think  of  that ! 

When  the  elm  before  her  window  broke  into  leaf,  and 
the  sodden  winter  skies  were  transformed  into  a  warm 
spring  vista  of  blue,  Stella  was  singing  a  special  en- 
gagement in  a  local  vaudeville  house  that  boasted  a 


ECHOES  259 

"  big  time "  bill.  She  had  stepped  up.  The  silvery 
richness  of  her  voice  had  carried  her  name  already  be- 
yond local  boundaries,  as  the  singing  master  under 
whom  she  studied  prophesied  it  would.  In  proof 
thereof  she  received  during  April  a  feminine  committee 
of  two  from  Vancouver  bearing  an  offer  of  three  hun- 
dred dollars  for  her  appearance  in  a  series  of  three  con- 
certs under  the  auspices  of  the  Woman's  Musical  Club, 
to  be  given  in  the  ballroom  of  Vancouver's  new  million- 
dollar  hostelry,  the  Granada.  The  date  was  mid-July. 
She  took  the  offer  under  advisement,  promising  a  deci- 
sion in  ten  days. 

The  money  tempted  her;  that  was  her  greatest  need 
now, —  not  for  her  daily  bread,  but  for  an  accumulated 
fund  that  would  enable  her  to  reach  New  York  and 
ultimately  Europe,  if  that  seemed  the  most  direct  route 
to  her  goal.  She  had  no  doubts  about  reaching  it  now. 
Confidence  came  to  abide  with  her.  She  throve  on 
work ;  and  with  increasing  salary,  her  fund  grew.  Com- 
ing from  any  other  source,  she  would  have  accepted  this 
further  augmentation  of  it  without  hesitation,  since  for 
a  comparative  beginner,  it  was  a  liberal  offer. 

But  Vancouver  was  Fyfe's  home  town;  it  had  been 
hers.  Many  people  knew  her;  the  local  papers  would 
feature  her.  She  did  not  know  how  Fyfe  would  take  it ; 
she  did  not  even  know  if  there  had  been  any  open  talk 
of  their  separation.  Money,  she  felt,  was  a  small  thing 
beside  opening  old  sores.  For  herself,  she  was  tolerably 
indifferent  to  Vancouver's  social  estimate  of  her  or  her 
acts.  Nevertheless,  so  long  as  she  bore  Fyfe's  name, 
she  did  not  feel  free  to  make  herself  a  public  figure  there 


260  BIG   TIMBER 

without  his  sanction.  So  she  wrote  to  him  in  some  de- 
tail concerning  the  offer  and  asked  point-blank  if  it 
mattered  to  him. 

His  answer  came  with  uncanny  promptness,  as  if 
every  mail  connection  had  been  made  on  the  minute. 

"  If  it  is  to  your  advantage  to  sing  here,"  he  wrote, 
"by  all  means  accept.  Why  should  it  matter  to  me? 
I  would  even  be  glad  to  come  and  hear  you  sing  if  I 
could  do  so  without  stirring  up  vain  longings  and  use- 
less regrets.  As  for  the  other  considerations  you  men- 
tion, they  are  of  no  weight  at  all.  I  never  wanted  to 
keep  you  in  a  glass  case.  Even  if  all  were  well  between 
us,  I  wouldn't  have  any  feeling  about  your  singing  in 
public  other  than  pride  in  your  ability  to  command 
public  favor  with  your  voice.  It's  a  wonderful  voice, 
too  big  and  fine  a  thing  to  remain  obscure. 

"  JACK." 

He  added,  evidently  as  an  afterthought,  a  somewhat 
lengthy  postscript : 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  something  next  month,  not  as 
a  favor  to  me  particularly,  but  to  ease  things  along  for 
Charlie  and  Linda.  They  are  genuinely  in  love  with 
each  other.  I  can  see  you  turning  up  your  little  nose 
at  that.  I  know  you've  held  a  rather  biased  opinion 
of  your  brother  and  his  works  since  that  unfortunate 
winter.  But  it  doesn't  do  to  be  too  self-righteous. 
Charlie,  then,  was  very  little  different  from  any  rather 
headlong,  self-centered,  red-blooded  youngster.  I'm 
afraid  I'm  expressing  myself  badly.  What  I  mean  is 
that  while  he  was  drifting  then  into  a  piggy  muddle, 
he  had  the  sense  to  take  a  brace  before  his  lapses  be- 
came vices.  Partly  because  —  I've  flattered  myself  — 
I  talked  to  him  like  a  Dutch  uncle,  and  partly  because 


ECHOES  261 

he's  cast  too  much  in  the  same  clean-cut  mold  that  you 
are,  to  let  his  natural  passions  run  clean  away  with 
him.  He'll  always  be  more  or  less  a  profound  egotist. 
But  he'll  be  a  good  deal  more  of  a  man  than  you,  per- 
haps, think. 

"  I  never  used  to  think  much  of  these  matters.  I 
suppose  my  own  failure  at  a  thing  in  which  I  was  cock- 
sure of  success  had  made  me  a  bit  dubious  about  any- 
body I  care  for  starting  so  serious  an  undertaking 
as  marriage  under  any  sort  of  handicap.  I  do  like 
Charlie  Benton  and  Linda  Abbey.  They  are  marrying 
in  the  face  of  her  people's  earnest  attempt  to  break  it 
up.  The  Abbeys  are  hopelessly  conservative.  Any- 
thing in  the  nature  of  our  troubles  aired  in  public  would 
make  it  pretty^  tough  sledding  for  Linda.  As  it  stands, 
they  are  consenting  very  ungracefully,  but  as  a  matter 
of  family  pride,  intend  to  give  Linda  a  big  wedding. 

"  Now,  no  one  outside  of  you  and  me  and  —  well 
you  and  me  —  knows  that  there  is  a  rift  in  our  lu,te. 
I  haven't  been  quizzed  —  naturally.  It  got  about  that 
you'd  taken  up  voice  culture  with  an  eye  to  opera  as 
a  counteracting  influence  to  the  grief  of  losing  your 
baby.  I  fostered  that  rumor  —  simply  to  keep  gossip 
down  until  things  shaped  themselves  positively.  Once 
these  two  are  married,  they  have  started  —  Abbey 
pere  and  mere  will  then  be  unable  to  frown  on  Linda's 
contemplated  alliance  with  a  family  that's  produced  a 
divorce  case. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  will  take  any  legal  steps 
until  after  those  concerts.  Until  then,  please  keep  up 
the  fiction  that  the  house  of  Fyfe  still  stands  on  a  solid 
foundation  —  a  myth  that  you've  taken  no  measures 
to  dispel  since  you  left.  When  it  does  come,  it  will  be 
a  sort  of  explosion,  and  I'd  rather  have  it  that  way  — 
one  amazed  yelp  from  our  friends  and  the  newspapers, 
and  it's  over. 


262  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Meantime,  you  will  receive  an  invitation  to  the 
wedding.  I  hope  you'll  accept.  You  needn't  have 
any  compunctions  about  playing  the  game.  You  will 
not  encounter  me,  as  I  have  my  hands  full  here,  and 
I'm  notorious  in  Vancouver  for  backing  out  of  func- 
tions, anyway.  It  is  not  imperative  that  you  should 
do  this.  It's  merely  a  safeguard  against  a  bomb  from 
the  Abbey  fortress. 

"  Linda  is  troubled  by  a  belief  that  upon  small  pre- 
text they  would  be  very  nasty,  and  she  naturally 
doesn't  want  any  friction  with  her  folks.  They  have 
certain  vague  but  highly  material  ambitions  for  her 
matrimonially,  which  she,  a  very  sensible  girl,  doesn't 
subscribe  to.  She's  a  very  shrewd  and  practical  young 
person,  for  all  her  whole-hearted  passion  for  your 
brother.  I  rather  think  she  pretty  clearly  guesses  the 
breach  in  our  rampart  —  not  the  original  mistake  in 
our  over-hasty  plunge  —  but  the  wedge  that  divided  us 
for  good.  If  she  does,  and  I'm  quite  sure  she  does, 
she  is  certainly  good  stuff,  because  she  is  most  loyally 
your  champion.  I  say  that  because  Charlie  had  a  tend- 
ency this  spring  to  carp  at  your  desertion  of  Roaring 
Lake.  Things  aren't  going  any  too  good  with  us,  one 
way  and  another,  and  of  course  he,  not  knowing  the 
real  reason  of  your  absence,  couldn't  understand  why 
you  stay  away.  I  had  to  squelch  him,  and  Linda 
abetted  me  successfully.  However,  that's  beside  the 
point.  I  hope  I  haven't  irritated  you.  I'm  such  a 
dumb  sort  of  brute  generally.  I  don't  know  what  imp 
of  prolixity  got  into  my  pen.  I've  got  it  all  off  my 
chest  now,  or  pretty  near. 

"J.  H.  F." 

Stella  sat  thoughtfully  gazing  at  the  letter  for  a 
long  time. 

"I  wonder?"  she  said  aloud,  and  the  sound  of  her 


ECHOES  263 

own  voice  galvanized  her  into  action.  She  put  on  a 
coat  and  went  out  into  the  mellow  spring  sunshine,  and 
walked  till  the  aimless  straying  of  her  feet  carried  her 
to  a  little  park  that  overlooked  the  far  reach  of  the 
Sound  and  gave  westward  on  the  snowy  Olympics, 
thrusting  hoary  and  aloof  to  a  perfect  sky,  like  their 
brother  peaks  that  ringed  Roaring  Lake.  And  all  the 
time  her  mind  kept  turning  on  a  question  whose  asking 
was  rooted  neither  in  fact  nor  necessity,  an  inquiry  born 
of  a  sentiment  she  had  never  expected  to  feel. 

Should  she  go  back  to  Jack  Fyfe? 

She  shook  her  head  impatiently  when  she  faced  that 
squarely.  Why  tread  the  same  bitter  road  again? 
But  she  put  that  self-interested  phase  of  it  aside  and 
asked  herself  candidly  if  she  could  go  back  and  take  up 
the  old  threads  where  they  had  been  broken  off  and 
make  life  run  smoothly  along  the  old,  quiet  channels? 
She  was  as  sure  as  she  was  sure  of  the  breath  she  drew 
that  Fyfe  wanted  her,  that  he  longed  for  and  would 
welcome  her.  But  she  was  equally  sure  that  the  old 
illusions  would  never  serve.  She  couldn't  even  make 
him  happy,  much  less  herself.  Monohan  —  well,  Mono- 
han  was  a  dead  issue.  He  had  come  to  the  Charteris 
to  see  her,  all  smiles  and  eagerness.  She  had  been  able 
to  look  at  him  and  through  him  —  and  cut  him  dead  — 
and  do  it  without  a  single  flutter  of  her  heart. 

That  brief  and  illuminating  episode  in  Wain's  had 
merely  confirmed  an  impression  that  had  slowly  grown 
upon  her,  and  her  outburst  of  feeling  that  night  had 
only  been  the  overflowing  of  shamed  anger  at  herself 
for  letting  his  magnetic  personality  make  so  deep  an  im- 


264  BIG   TIMBER 

pression  on  her  that  she  could  admit  to  him  that  she 
cared.  She  felt  that  she  had  belittled  herself  by  that. 
But  he  was  no  longer  a  problem.  She  wondered  now 
how  he  ever  could  have  been.  She  recalled  that  once 
Jack  Fyfe  had  soberly  told  her  she  would  never  sense 
life's  real  values  while  she  nursed  so  many  illusions. 
Monohan  had  been  one  of  them. 

"  But  it  wouldn't  work,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 
"  I  couldn't  do  it.  He'd  know  I  only  did  it  because  I 
was  sorry,  because  I  thought  I  should,  because  the  old 
ties,  and  they  seem  so  many  and  so  strong  in  spite  of 
everything,  were  harder  to  break  than  the  new  road  is 
to  follow  alone.  He'd  resent  anything  like  pity  for  his 
loneliness.  And  if  Monohan  has  made  any  real  trouble, 
it  began  over  me,  or  at  least  it  focussed  on  me.  And 
he  might  resent  that.  He's  ten  times  a  better  man  than 
I  am  a  woman.  He  thinks  about  the  other  fellow's  side 
of  things.  I'm  just  what  he  said  about  Charlie,  self- 
centered,  a  profound  egotist.  If  I  really  and  truly 
loved  Jack  Fyfe,  I'd  be  a  jealous  little  fury  if  he  so 
much  as  looked  at  another  woman.  But  I  don't,  and  I 
don't  see  why  I  don't.  I  want  to  be  loved;  I  want  to 
love.  I've  always  wanted  that  so  much  that  I'll  never 
dare  trust  my  instincts  about  it  again.  I  wonder  why 
people  like  me  exist  to  go  blundering  about  in  the  world, 
playing  havoc  with  themselves  and  everybody  else  ?  " 

Before  she  reached  home,  that  self-sacrificing  mood 
had  vanished  in  the  face  of  sundry  twinges  of  pride. 
Jack  Fyfe  hadn't  asked  her  to  come  back;  he  never 
would  ask  her  to  come  back.  Of  that  she  was  quite 
sure.  She  knew  the  stony  determination  of  him  too 


ECHOES  265 

well.  Neither  hope  or  heaven  nor  fear  of  hell  would 
turn  him  aside  when  he  had  made  a  decision.  If  he  ever 
had  moments  of  irresolution,  he  had  successfully  con- 
cealed any  such  weakness  from  those  who  knew  him  best. 
No  one  ever  felt  called  upon  to  pity  Jack  Fyfe,  and  in 
those  rocked-ribbed  qualities,  Stella  had  an  illuminating 
flash,  perhaps  lay  the  secret  of  his  failure  ever  to  stir 
in  her  that  yearning  tenderness  which  she  knew  herself 
to  be  capable  of  lavishing,  which  her  nature  impelled  her 
to  lavish  on  some  one. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  sighed,  when  she  came  back  to  her 
rooms  and  put  Fyfe's  letter  away  in  a  drawer.  "  I'll 
do  the  decent  thing  if  they  ask  me.  I  wonder  what  Jack 
would  say  if  he  knew  what  I've  been  debating  with  my- 
self this  afternoon?  I  wonder  if  we  were  actually 
divorced  and  I'd  made  myself  a  reputation  as  a  singer, 
and  we  happened  to  meet  quite  casually  sometime,  some- 
where, just  how  we'd  really  feel  about  each  other?  " 

She  was  still  musing  on  that,  in  a  detached,  imper- 
sonal fashion,  when  she  caught  a  car  down  to  the  theater 
for  the  matinee. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING 

The  formally  worded  wedding  card  arrived  in  due 
course.  Following  close  came  a  letter  from  Linda  Ab- 
bey, a  missive  that  radiated  friendliness  and  begged 
Stella  to  come  a  week  before  the  date. 

"  You're  going  to  be  pretty  prominent  in  the  public 
eye  when  you  sing  here,"  Linda  wrote.  "  People  are 
going  to  make  a  to-do  over  you.  Ever  so  many  have 
mentioned  you  since  the  announcement  was  made  that 
you'll  sing  at  the  Granada  concerts.  I'm  getting  a 
lot  of  reflected  glory  as  the  future  sister-in-law  of  a 
rising  singer.  So  you  may  as  well  come  and  get  your 
hand  into  the  social  game  in  preparation  for  being 
fussed  over  in  July." 

In  the  same  mail  was  a  characteristic  note  from 
Charlie  which  ran: 

'*  Dear  Sis  : 

"  As  the  Siwashes  say,  long  time  I  see  you  no.  I 
might  have  dropped  a  line  before,  but  you  know  what 
a  punk  correspondent  I  am.  They  tell  me  you're  be- 
coming a  real  noise  musically.  How  about  it? 

"  Can't  you  break  away  from  the  fame  and  fortune 
stuff  long  enough  to  be  on  hand  when  Linda  and  I  get 
married?  I  wasn't  invited  to  your  wedding,  but  I'd 


AN   UNEXPECTED    MEETING        267 

like  to  have  you  at  mine.  Jack  says  it's  up  to  you  to 
represent  the  Fyfe  connection,  as  he's  too  busy.  I'll 
come  over  to  Seattle  and  get  you,  if  you  say  so." 

She  capitulated  at  that  and  wrote  saying  that  she 
would  be  there,  and  that  she  did  not  mind  the  trip  alone 
in  the  least.  She  did  not  want  Charlie  asking  perti- 
nent questions  about  why  she  lived  in  such  grubby 
quarters  and  practiced  such  strict  economy  in  the  mat- 
ter of  living. 

Then  there  was  the  detail  of  arranging  a  break  in 
her  engagements,  which  ran  continuously  to  the  end  of 
June.  She  managed  that  easily  enough,  for  she  was 
becoming  too  great  a  drawing  card  for  managers  to 
curtly  override  her  wishes. 

Almost  before  she  realized  it,  June  was  at  hand. 
Linda  wrote  again  urgently,  and  Stella  took  the  night 
boat  for  Vancouver  a  week  before  the  wedding  day. 
Linda  met  her  at  the  dock  with  a  machine.  Mrs.  Ab- 
bey was  the  essence  of  cordiality  when  she  reached  the 
big  Abbey  house  on  Vancouver's  aristocratic  "  heights," 
where  the  local  capitalists,  all  those  fortunate  climbers 
enriched  by  timber  and  mineral,  grown  wealthy  in  a 
decade  through  the  great  Coast  boom,  segregated  them- 
selves in  "Villas"  and  "Places"  and  "Views,"  all 
painfully  new  and  sometimes  garish,  striving  for  an 
effect  in  landscape  and  architecture  which  the  very  in- 
tensity of  the  striving  defeated.  They  were  well- 
meaning  folk,  however,  the  Abbeys  included. 

Stella  could  not  deny  that  she  enjoyed  the  luxury 
of  the  Abbey  menage,  the  little  festive  round  which  was 
shaping  about  Linda  in  these  last  days  of  her  spinster- 


268  BIG    TIMBER 

hood.  She  relished  the  change  from  unremitting  work. 
It  amused  her  to  startle  little  groups  with  the  range 
and  quality  of  her  voice,  when  they  asked  her  to  sing. 
They  made  a  much  ado  over  that,  a  genuine  admiration 
that  flattered  Stella.  It  was  easy  for  her  to  fall  into 
the  swing  of  that  life;  it  was  only  a  lapsing  back  to 
the  old  ways. 

But  she  saw  it  now  with  a  more  critical  vision.  It 
was  soft  and  satisfying  and  eminently  desirable  to 
have  everything  one  wanted  without  the  effort  of  striv- 
ing for  it,  but  a  begging,  wheedling  game  on  the  part 
of  these  women.  They  were,  she  told  herself  rather 
harshly,  an  incompetent,  helpless  lot,  dependent  one 
and  all  upon  some  man's  favor  or  affection,  just  as  she 
herself  had  been  all  her  life  until  the  past  few  months. 
Some  man  had  to  work  and  scheme  to  pay  the  bills. 
She  did  not  know  why  this  line  of  thought  should  arise, 
neither  did  she  so  far  forget  herself  as  to  voice  these 
social  heresies.  But  it  helped  to  reconcile  her  with 
her  new-found  independence,  to  put  a  less  formidable 
aspect  on  the  long,  hard  grind  that  lay  ahead  of  her 
before  she  could  revel  in  equal  affluence  gained  by  her 
own  efforts.  All  that  they  had  she  desired, —  homes, 
servants,  clothes,  social  standing, —  but  she  did  not 
want  these  things  bestowed  upon  her  as  a  favor  by 
some  man,  the  emoluments  of  sex. 

She  expected  she  would  have  to  be  on  her  guard  with 
her  brother,  even  to  dissemble  a  little.  But  she  found 
him  too  deeply  engrossed  in  what  to  him  was  the  most 
momentous  event  of  his  career,  impatiently  awaiting 
the  day,  rather  dreading  the  publicity  of  it. 


AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING        269 

"  Why  in  Sam  Hill  can't  a  man  and  a  woman  get 
married  without  all  this  fuss  ?  "  he  complained  once. 
"  Why  should  we  make  our  private  affairs  a  spectacle 
for  the  whole  town?  " 

"  Principally  because  mamma  has  her  heart  set  on  a 
spectacle,"  Linda  laughed.  "  She'd  hold  up  her  hands 
in  horror  if  she  heard  you.  Decorated  bridal  bower, 
high  church  dignitary,  bridesmaids,  orange  blossoms, 
rice,  and  all.  Mamma  likes  to  show  off.  Besides, 
that's  the  way  it's  done  in  society.  And  the  honey- 
moon." 

They  both  giggled,  as  at  some  mirthful  secret. 

"  Shall  we  tell  her  ?  "     Linda  nodded  toward  Stella. 

"  Sure,"  Benton  said.     "  I  thought  you  had." 

"  The  happy  couple  will  spend  their  honeymoon 
on  a  leisurely  tour  of  the  Southern  and  Eastern 
States,  remaining  for  some  weeks  in  Philadelphia, 
where  the  groom  has  wealthy  and  influential  con- 
nections. It's  all  prepared  for  the  pay-a-purs,"  Linda 
whispered  with  exaggerated  secrecy  behind  her 
hand. 

Benton  snorted. 

"  Can  you  beat  that?  "  he  appealed  to  Stella. 

"  And  all  the  time,"  Linda  continued,  "  the  happy 
couple,  unknown  to  every  one,  will  be  spending  their 
days  in  peace  and  quietness  in  their  shanty  at  Halfway 
Point.  My,  but  mamma  would  rave  if  she  knew. 
Don't  give  us  away,  Stella.  It  seems  so  senseless  to 
squander  a  lot  of  money  gadding  about  on  trains  and 
living  in  hotels  when  we'd  much  rather  be  at  home  by 
ourselves.  My  husband's  a  poor  young  man,  Stella. 


270  BIG   TIMBER 

*  Pore  but  worthy.'  He  has  to  make  his  fortune  be- 
fore we  start  in  spending  it.  I'm  sick  of  all  this 
spreading  it  on  because  dad  has  made  a  pile  of  money," 
she  broke  out  impatiently.  "  Our  living  used  to  be 
simple  enough  when  I  was  a  kid.  I  think  I  can  relish 
a  little  simplicity  again  for  a  change.  Mamma's  been 
trying  for  four  years  to  marry  me  off  to  her  concep- 
tion of  an  eligible  man.  It  didn't  matter  a  hang  about 
his  essential  qualities  so  long  as  he  had  money  and  an 
assured  social  position." 

"  Forget  that,"  Charlie  counseled  slangily.  "  I  have 
all  the  essential  qualities,  and  I'll  have  the  money  and 
social  position  too ;  you  watch  my  smoke." 

"  Conceited  ninny,"  Linda  smiled.  But  there  was 
no  reproof  in  her  tone,  only  pure  comradeship  and 
affection,  which  Benton  returned  so  openly  and  unaf- 
fectedly that  Stella  got  up  and  left  them  with  a  pang 
of  envy,  a  dull  little  ache  in  her  heart.  She  had  missed 
that.  It  had  passed  her  by,  that  clean,  spontaneous 
fusing  of  two  personalities  in  the  biggest  passion  life 
holds.  Marriage  and  motherhood  she  had  known,  not 
as  the  flowering  of  love,  not  as  an  eager  fulfilling  of  her 
natural  destiny,  but  as  something  extraneous,  an  ave- 
nue of  escape  from  an  irksomeness  of  living,  a  weari- 
ness with  sordid  things,  which  she  knew  now  had 
obsessed  her  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  reality. 
She  had  never  seen  that  tenderness  glow  in  the  eyes  of 
a  mating  pair  that  she  did  not  envy  them,  that  she  did 
not  feel  herself  hopelessly  defrauded  of  her  woman's 
heritage. 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  moody,  full  of  bitterness, 


AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING        271 

and  walked  the  thick-carpeted  floor,  the  restlessness  of 
her  chafing  spirit  seeking  the  outlet  of  action. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  I've  got  something  to  do,  some- 
thing that's  worth  doing,"  she  whispered  savagely. 
"  If  I  can't  have  what  I  want,  I  can  make  my  life  em- 
brace something  more  than  just  food  and  clothes  and 
social  trifling.  If  I  had  to  sit  and  wait  for  each  day 
to  bring  what  it  would,  I  believe  I'd  go  clean  mad." 

A  maid  interrupted  these  self-communings  to  say 
that  some  one  had  called  her  over  the  telephone,  and 
Stella  went  down  to  the  library.  She  wasn't  prepared 
for  the  voice  that  came  over  the  line,  but  she  recognized 
it  instantly  as  Fyfe's. 

"  Listen,  Stella,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry  this  has  hap- 
pened, but  I  can't  very  well  avoid  it  now,  without  caus- 
ing comment.  I  had  no  choice  about  coming  to 
Vancouver.  It  was  a  business  matter  I  couldn't  neg- 
lect. And  as  luck  would  have  it,  Abbey  ran  into  me 
as  I  got  off  the  train.  On  account  of  your  being  there, 
of  course,  he  insisted  that  I  come  out  for  dinner.  It'll 
look  queer  if  I  don't,  as  I  can't  possibly  get  a  return 
train  for  the  Springs  before  nine-thirty  this  evening. 
I  accepted  without  stuttering  rather  than  leave  any 
chance  for  the  impression  that  I  wanted  to  avoid  you. 
Now,  here's  how  I  propose  to  fix  it.  I'll  come  out 
about  two-thirty  and  pay  a  hurry-up  five-minute  call. 
Then  I'll  excuse  myself  to  Mrs.  Abbey  for  inability  to 
join  them  at  dinner  —  press  of  important  business 
takes  me  to  Victoria  and  so  forth.  That'll  satisfy  the 
conventions  and  let  us  both  out.  I  called  you  so  you 
won't  be  taken  by  surprise.  Do  you  mind  ?  " 


272  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered  instantly.  "  Why 
should  I?" 

There  was  a  momentary  silence. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  didn't  know  how  you'd 
feel  about  it.  Anyway,  it  will  only  be  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  it's  unlikely  to  happen  again." 

Stella  put  the  receiver  back  on  the  hook  and  looked 
at  her  watch.  It  lacked  a  quarter  of  two.  In  the 
room  adjoining,  Charlie  and  Linda  were  jubilantly 
wading  through  the  latest  "  rag  "  song  in  a  passable 
soprano  and  baritone,  with  Mrs.  Abbey  listening  in 
outward  resignation.  Stella  sat  soberly  for  a  minute, 
then  joined  them. 

"  Jack's  in  town,"  she  informed  them  placidly,  when 
the  ragtime  spasm  ended.  "  He  telephoned  that  he 
was  going  to  snatch  a  few  minutes  between  important 
business  confabs  to  run  out  and  see  me." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that  half  an  hour  ago,  my 
dear,"  Mrs.  Abbey  responded  with  playful  archness. 
"  Mr.  Fyfe  will  dine  with  us  this  evening." 

"  Oh,"  Stella  feigned  surprise.  "  Why,  he  spoke  of 
going  to  Victoria  on  the  afternoon  boat.  He  gave  me 
the  impression  of  mad  haste  —  making  a  dash  out  here 
between  breaths,  as  you  might  say." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  won't  be  called  away  on  such  short 
notice  as  that,"  Mrs.  Abbey  murmured  politely. 

She  left  the  room  presently.  Out  of  one  corner  of 
her  eye  Stella  saw  Linda  looking  at  her  queerly. 
Charlie  had  turned  to  the  window,  staring  at  the  blue 
blur  of  the  Lions  across  the  Inlet. 

"  It's  a  wonder  Jack  would  leave  the  lake,"  he  said 


AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING        273 

suddenly,  "  with  things  the  way  they  are.  I've  been 
hoping  for  rain  ever  since  I've  been  down.  I'll  be  glad 
when  we're  on  the  spot  again,  Linda." 

"  Wishing  for  rain?  "  Stella  echoed.     "  Why?  " 

"Fire,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  don't  suppose  you 
realize  it,  but  there's  been  practically  no  rain  for  two 
months.  It's  getting  hot.  A  few  weeks  of  dry,  warm 
weather,  and  this  whole  country  is  ready  to  blow  away. 
The  woods  are  like  a  pile  of  shavings.  That  would  be 
a  fine  wedding  present  —  to  be  cleaned  out  by  fire. 
Every  dollar  I've  got's  in  timber." 

"  Don't  be  a  pessimist,"  Linda  said  sharply. 

"What  makes  you  so  uneasy  now?"  Stella  asked 
thoughtfully.  "  There's  always  the  fire  danger  in  the 
dry  months.  That's  been  a  bugaboo  ever  since  I  came 
to  the  lake." 

"  Yes,  but  never  like  it  is  this  summer,"  Benton 
frowned.  "  Oh,  well,  no  use  borrowing  trouble,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Stella  rose. 

"  When  Jack  comes,  I'll  be  in  the  library,"  she  said. 
*'  I'm  going  to  read  a  while." 

But  the  book  she  took  up  lay  idle  in  her  lap.  She 
looked  forward  to  that  meeting  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  reluctance  and  regret.  She  could  not  face  it  un- 
moved. No  woman  who  has  ever  lain  passive  in  a 
man's  arms  can  ever  again  look  into  that  man's  eyes 
with  genuine  indifference.  She  may  hate  him  or  love 
him  with  a  degree  of  intensity  according  to  her  nature, 
be  merely  friendly,  or  nurse  a  slow  resentment.  But 
there  is  always  that  intangible  something  which  differ- 


274  BIG   TIMBER 

entiates  him  from  other  men.  Stella  felt  now  a  shy- 
ness of  him,  a  little  dread  of  him,  less  sureness  of 
herself,  as  he  swung  out  of  the  machine  and  took  the 
house  steps  with  that  effortless  lightness  on  his  feet 
that  she  remembered  so  well. 

She  heard  him  in  the  hall,  his  deep  voice  mingling 
with  the  thin,  penetrating  tones  of  Mrs.  Abbey.  And 
then  the  library  door  opened,  and  he  came  in.  Stella 
had  risen,  and  stood  uncertainly  at  one  corner  of  a 
big  reading  table,  repressing  an  impulse  to  fly,  finding 
herself  stricken  with  a  strange  recurrence  of  the  feeling 
she  had  first  disliked  him  for  arousing  in  her, —  a  sense 
of  needing  to  be  on  her  guard,  of  impending  assertion 
of  a  will  infinitely  more  powerful  than  her  own. 

But  that  was,  she  told  herself,  only  a  state  of  mind, 
and  Fyfe  put  her  quickly  at  her  ease.  He  came  up  to 
the  table  and  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  it  an  arm's 
length  from  her,  swinging  one  foot  free.  He  looked  at 
her  intently.  There  was  no  shadow  of  expression  on 
his  face,  only  in  his  clear  eyes  lurked  a  gleam  of  feel- 
ing. 

"  Well,  lady,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you're  looking 
fine.  How  goes  everything?  " 

"  Fairly  well,"  she  answered. 

"  Seems  odd,  doesn't  it,  to  meet  like  this  ?  "  he  ven- 
tured. "  I'd  have  dodged  it,  if  it  had  been  politic. 
As  it  is,  there's  no  harm  done,  I  imagine.  Mrs.  Abbey 
assured  me  we'd  be  free  from  interruption.  If  the  ex- 
ceedingly cordial  dame  had  an  inkling  of  how  things 
stand  between  us,  I  daresay  she'd  be  holding  her  breath 
about  now." 


AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING        275 

"Why  do  you  talk  like  that,  Jack?"  Stella  pro- 
tested nervously. 

"  Well,  I  have  to  say  something,"  he  remarked,  after 
a  moment's  reflection.  "  I  can't  sit  here  and  just  look 
at  you.  That  would  be  rude,  not  to  say  embarrassing." 

Stella  bit  her  lip. 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  can't  talk  like  any  other  man 
and  woman  for  a  few  minutes,"  she  observed. 

"  I  do,"  he  said  quietly.  "  You  know  why,  too,  if 
you  stop  to  think.  I'm  the  same  old  Jack  Fyfe,  Stella. 
I  don't  think  much  where  you  are  concerned;  I  just 
feel.  And  that  doesn't  lend  itself  readily  to  imper- 
sonal chatter." 

"  How  do  you  feel? "  she  asked,  meeting  his  gaze 
squarely.  "  If  you  don't  hate  me,  you  must  at  least 
rather  despise  me." 

"  Neither,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  admire  your  grit, 
lady.  You  broke  away  from  everything  and  made  a 
fresh  start.  You  asserted  your  own  individuality  in 
a  fashion  that  rather  surprised  me.  Maybe  the  in- 
centive wasn't  what  it  might  have  been,  but  the  result 
is,  or  promises  to  be.  I  was  only  a  milestone.  Why 
should  I  hate  or  despise  you  because  you  recognized 
that  and  passed  on?  I  had  no  business  setting  myself 
up  for  the  end  of  your  road  instead  of  the  beginning. 
I  meant  to  have  it  that  way  until  the  kid  —  well,  Fate 
took  a  hand  there.  Pshaw,"  he  broke  off  with  a  quick 
gesture,  "  let's  talk  about  something  else." 

Stella  laid  one  hand  on  his  knee.  Unbidden  tears 
were  crowding  up  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"  You  were  good  to  me,"  she  whispered.     "  But  just 


276  BIG   TIMBER 

being  good  wasn't  enough  for  a  perverse  creature  like 
me.  I  couldn't  be  a  sleek,  pussy-cat,  comfortable  be- 
side your  fire.  I'm  full  of  queer  longings.  I  want 
wings.  I  must  be  a  variation  from  the  normal  type  of 
woman.  Our  marriage  didn't  touch  the  real  me  at  all, 
Jack.  It  only  scratched  the  surface.  And  sometimes 
I'm  afraid  to  look  deep,  for  fear  of  what  I'll  see.  Even 
if  another  man  hadn't  come  along  and  stirred  up  a 
temporary  tumult  in  me,  I  couldn't  have  gone  on  for- 
ever." 

"  A  temporary  tumult,"  Fyfe  mused.  "  Have  you 
thoroughly  chucked  that  illusion?  I  knew  you  would, 
of  course,  but  I  had  no  idea  how  long  it  would  take 
you." 

"  Long  ago,"  she  answered.  "  Even  before  I  left 
you,  I  was  shaky  about  that.  There  were  things  I 
couldn't  reconcile.  But  pride  wouldn't  let  me  admit 
it.  I  can't  even  explain  it  to  myself." 

"  I  can,"  he  said,  a  little  sadly.  "  You've  never 
poured  out  that  big,  warm  heart  of  yours  on  a  man. 
It's  there,  always  has  been  there,  those  concentrated 
essences  of  passion.  Every  unattached  man's  a  possi- 
ble factor,  a  potential  lover.  Nature  has  her  own  de- 
vices to  gain  her  end.  I  couldn't  be  the  one.  We 
started  wrong.  I  saw  the  mistake  of  that  when  it  was 
too  late.  Monohan,  a  highly  magnetic  animal,  came 
along  at  a  time  when  you  were  peculiarly  and  rather 
blindly  receptive.  That's  all.  Sex  —  you  have  it  in 
a  word.  It  couldn't  stand  any  stress,  that  sort  of 
attraction.  I  knew  it  would  only  last  until  you  got 
one  illuminating  glimpse  of  the  real  man  of  him.  But 


AN    UNEXPECTED    MEETING        277 

I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him.  He'll  keep.  Some- 
time you'll  really  love  a  man,  Stella,  and  he'll  be  a  very 
lucky  mortal.  There's  an  erratic  streak  in  you,  lady, 
but  there's  a  bigger  streak  that's  fine  and  good  and 
true.  You'd  have  gone  through  with  it  to  the  bitter 
end,  if  Jack  Junior  hadn't  died.  The  weaklings  don't 
do  that.  Neither  do  they  cut  loose  as  you  did,  burn- 
ing all  their  economic  bridges  behind  them.  Do  you 
know  that  it  was  over  a  month  before  I  found  out  that 
you'd  turned  your  private  balance  back  into  my  ac- 
count? I  suppose  there  was  a  keen  personal  satisfac- 
tion in  going  on  your  own  and  making  good  from  the 
start.  Only  I  couldn't  rest  until  —  until  — " 

His  voice  trailed  huskily  off  into  silence.  The  gloves 
in  his  left  hand  were  doubled  and  twisted  in  his  uneasy 
fingers.  Stella's  eyes  were  blurred. 

"  Well,  I'm  going,"  he  said  shortly.     "  Be  good." 

He  slipped  off  the  table  and  stood  erect,  a  wide, 
deep-chested  man,  tanned  brown,  his  fair  hair  with  its 
bronze  tinge  lying  back  in  a  smooth  wave  from  his  fore- 
head, blue  eyes  bent  on  her,  hot  with  a  slumbering  fire. 

Without  warning,  he  caught  her  close  in  his  arms 
so  that  she  could  feel  the  pounding  of  his  heart  against 
her  breast,  kissed  her  cheeks,  her  hair,  the  round,  firm 
white  neck  of  her,  with  lips  that  burned.  Then  he 
.held  her  off  at  arm's  length. 

"That's  how  /  care,"  he  said  defiantly.  "That's 
how  I  want  you.  No  other  way.  I'm  a  one-woman 
man.  Some  time  you  may  love  like  that,  arid  if  you 
do,  you'll  know  how  I  feel.  I've  watched  you  sleeping 
beside  me  and  ached  because  I  couldn't  kindle  the  faint- 


278  BIG   TIMBER 

est  glow  of  the  real  thing  in  you.  I'm  sick  with  a 
miserable  sense  of  failure,  the  only  thing  I've  ever  failed 
at,  and  the  biggest,  most  complete  failure  I  can  con- 
ceive of, —  to  love  a  woman  in  every  way  desirable;  to 
have  her  and  yet  never  have  her." 

He  caught  up  his  hat,  and  the  door  clicked  shut  be- 
hind him.  A  minute  later  Stella  saw  him  step  into  the 
.tonneau  of  the  car.  He  never  looked  back. 

And  she  fled  to  her  own  room,  stunned,  half-fright- 
ened, wholly  amazed  at  this  outburst.  Her  face  was 
damp  with  his  lip-pressure,  damp  and  warm.  Her 
arms  tingled  with  the  grip  of  his.  The  blood  stood  in 
her  cheeks  like  a  danger  signal,  flooding  in  hot,  succes- 
sive waves  to  tht  roots  of  her  thick,  brown  hair. 

"  If  I  thought  —  I  could,"  she  whispered  into  her 
pillow,  "I'd  try.  But  I  daren't.  I'm  afraid.  It's 
just  a  mood,  I  know  it  is.  I've  had  it  before.  A  —  ah! 
I'm  a  spineless  jellyfish,  a  weathercock  that  whirls  to 
every  emotional  breeze.  And  I  won't  be.  I'll  stand 
on  my  own  feet  if  I  can  —  so  help  me  God,  I  will !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    FIBE    BEHIND    THE    SMOKE 

This  is  no  intimate  chronicle  of  Charlie  Benton  and 
Linda  Abbey,  save  in  so  far  as  they  naturally  furnish  a 
logical  sequence  in  what  transpired.  Therefore  the 
details  of  their  nuptials  is  of  no  particular  concern. 
They  were  wedded,  ceremonially  dined  as  befitted  the 
occasion,  and  departed  upon  their  hypothetical  honey- 
moon, surreptitiously  abbreviated  from  an  extravagant 
swing  over  half  of  North  America  to  seventy  miles  by 
rail  and  twenty  by  water, —  and  a  month  of  blissful 
seclusion,  which  suited  those  two  far  better  than  any 
amount  of  Pullman  touring,  besides  leaving  them  money 
in  pocket. 

When  they  were  gone,  Stella  caught  the  next  boat 
for  Seattle.  She  had  drawn  fresh  breath  in  the  mean- 
time, and  while  she  felt  tenderly,  almost  maternally, 
sorry  for  Jack  Fyfe,  she  swung  back  to  the  old  attitude. 
Even  granting,  she  argued,  that  she  could  muster  cour- 
age to  take  up  the  mantle  of  wifehood  where  she  laid 
it  off,  there  was  no  surety  that  they  could  do  more  than 
compromise.  There  was  the  stubborn  fact  that  she 
had  openly  declared  her  love  for  another  man,  that  by 
her  act  she  had  plunged  her  husband  into  far-reaching 
conflict.  Such  a  conflict  existed.  She  could  put  her 


28o  BIG    TIMBER 

finger  on  no  concrete  facts,  but  it  was  in  the  air.  She 
heard  whispers  of  a  battle  between  giants  —  a  financial 
duel  to  the  death  —  with  all  the  odds  against  Jack 
Fyfe. 

Win  or  lose,  there  would  be  scars.  And  the  struggle, 
if  not  of  and  by  her  deed,  had  at  least  sprung  into 
malevolent  activity  through  her.  Men,  she  told  her- 
self, do  not  forget  these  things ;  they  rankle.  Jack 
Fyfe  was  only  human.  No,  Stella  felt  that  they  could 
only  come  safe  to  the  old  port  by  virtue  of  a  passion 
that  could  match  Fyfe's  own.  And  she  put  that  rather 
sadly  beyond  her,  beyond  the  possibilities.  She  had 
felt  stirrings  of  it,  but  not  to  endure.  She  was  proud 
and  sensitive  and  growing  wise  with  bitterly  accumulated 
experience.  It  had  to  be  all  or  nothing  with  them,  a 
cleaving  together  complete  enough  to  erase  and  forever 
obliterate  all  that  had  gone  before.  And  since  she 
could  not  see  that  as  a  possibility,  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  play  the  game  according  to  the  cards  she  held. 
Of  these  the  trump  was  work,  the  inner  glow  that  comes 
of  something  worth  while  done  toward  a  definite,  pur- 
poseful end.  She  took  up  her  singing  again  with  a 
distinct  relief. 

Time  passed  quickly  and  uneventfully  enough  between 
the  wedding  day  and  the  date  of  her  Granada  engage- 
ment. It  seemed  a  mere  breathing  space  before  the  mid- 
dle of  July  rolled  around,  and  she  was  once  more  aboard 
a  Vancouver  boat.  In  the  interim,  she  had  received  a 
letter  from  the  attorney  who  had  wound  up  her  father's 
estate,  intimating  that  there  was  now  a  market  demand 
for  that  oil  stock,  and  asking  if  he  should  sell  or  hold 


FIRE   BEHIND    THE    SMOKE         281 

for  a  rise  in  price  which  seemed  reasonably  sure?  Stella 
telegraphed  her  answer.  If  that  left-over  of  a  specu- 
lative period  would  bring  a  few  hundred  dollars,  it  would 
never  be  of  greater  service  to  her  than  now. 

All  the  upper  reach  of  Pugct  Sound  basked  in  its 
normal  midsummer  haze,  the  day  Stella  started  for  Van- 
couver. That  great  region  of  island-dotted  sea  spread 
between  the  rugged  Olympics  and  the  foot  of  the  Coast 
range  lay  bathed  in  summer  sun,  untroubled,  somnolent. 
But  nearing  the  international  boundary,  the  Charlotte 
drove  her  twenty-knot  way  into  a  thickening  atmosphere. 
Northward  from  Victoria,  the  rugged  shores  that  line 
those  inland  waterways  began  to  appear  blurred.  Just 
north  of  Active  Pass,  where  the  steamers  take  to  the 
open  gulf  again,  a  vast  bank  of  smoke  flung  up  blue  and 
gray,  a  rolling  mass.  The  air  was  pungent,  oppressive. 
When  the  Charlotte  spanned  the  thirty-mile  gap  be- 
tween Vancouver  Island  and  the  mainland  shore,  she 
nosed  into  the  Lion's  Gate  under  a  slow  bell,  through  a 
smoke  pall  thick  as  Bering  fog.  Stella's  recollection 
swung  back  to  Charlie's  uneasy  growl  of  a  month  earlier. 
Fire!  Throughout  the  midsummer  season  there  was 
always  the  danger  of  fire  breaking  out  in  the  woods. 
Not  all  the  fire-ranger  patrols  could  guard  against  the 
carelessness  of  fishermen  and  campers. 

"  It's  a  tough  summer  over  here  for  the  timber  own- 
ers," she  heard  a  man  remark.  "  I've  been  twenty 
years  on  the  coast  and  never  saw  the  woods  so  dry." 

"  Dry's  no  name,"  his  neighbor  responded.  "  It's 
like  tinder.  A  cigarette  stub'll  start  a  blaze  forty  men 
couldn't  put  out.  It's  me  that  knows  it.  I've  got  four 


282  BIG   TIMBER 

limits  on  the  North  Arm,  and  there's  fire  on  two  sides 
of  me.  You  bet  I'm  praying  for  rain." 

"  They  say  the  country  between  Chehalis  and  Roar- 
ing Lake  is  one  big  blaze,"  the  first  man  observed. 

"  So?  "  the  other  replied.  "  Pity,  too.  Fine  timber 
in  there.  I  came  near  buying  some  timber  on  the  lake 
this  spring.  Some  stuff  that  was  on  the  market  as  a 
result  of  that  Abbey-Monohan  split.  Glad  I  didn't 
now.  I'd  just  as  soon  have  all  my  money  out  of  timber 
this  season." 

They  moved  away  in  the  press  of  disembarking,  and 
Stella  heard  no  more  of  their  talk.  She  took  a  taxi  to 
the  Granada,  and -she  bought  a  paper  in  the  foyer  be- 
fore she  followed  the  bell  boy  to  her  room.  She  had 
scarcely  taken  off  her  hat  and  settled  down  to  read 
when  the  telephone  rang.  Linda's  voice  greeted  her 
when  she  answered. 

"  I  called  on  the  chance  that  you  took  the  morning 
boat,"  Linda  said.  "  Can  I  run  in?  I'm  just  down  for 
the  day.  I  won't  be  able  to  hear  you  sing,  but  I'd  like 
to  see  you,  dear." 

"  Can  you  come  right  now?  "  Stella  asked.  "  Come 
up,  and  we'll  have  something  served  up  here.  I  don't 
feel  like  running  the  gauntlet  of  the  dining  room  just 
now." 

"  I'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes,"  Linda  answered. 

Stella  went  back  to  her  paper.  She  hadn't  noticed 
any  particular  stress  laid  on  forest  fires  in  the  Seattle 
dailies,  but  she  could  not  say  that  of  this  Vancouver 
sheet.  The  front  page  reeked  of  smoke  and  fire.  She 
glanced  through  the  various  items  for  news  of  Roaring 


FIRE   BEHIND    THE    SMOKE         283 

Lake,  but  found  only  a  brief  mention.  It  was  "  re- 
ported "  and  "  asserted  "  and  "  rumored  "  that  fire  was 
raging  at  one  or  two  points  there,  statements  that  were 
overshadowed  by  positive  knowledge  of  greater  areas 
nearer  at  hand  burning  with  a  fierceness  that  could  be 
seen  and  smelled.  The  local  papers  had  enough  feature 
stuff  in  fires  that  threatened  the  very  suburbs  of  Van- 
couver without  going  so  far  afield  as  Roaring  Lake. 

Linda's  entrance  put  a  stop  to  her  reading,  without, 
however,  changing  the  direction  of  her  thought.  For 
after  an  exchange  of  greetings,  Linda  divulged  the 
source  of  her  worried  expression,  which  Stella  had  im- 
mediately remarked. 

"  Who  wouldn't  be  worried,"  Linda  said,  "  with  the 
whole  country  on  fire,  and  no  telling  when  it  may  break 
out  in  some  unexpected  place  and  wipe  one  out  of  house 
and  home." 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  at  the  lake  ?  "  Stella  asked  un- 
easily. "  There's  not  much  in  the  paper.  I  was  look- 
ing." 

"  It's  so  bad,"  Linda  returned,  with  a  touch  of  bitter- 
ness, "  that  I've  been  driven  to  the  Springs  for  safety ; 
that  every  able-bodied  man  on  the  lake  who  can  be 
spared  is  fighting  fire.  There  has  been  one  man  killed, 
and  there's  half  a  dozen  loggers  in  the  hospital,  suffer- 
ing from  burns  and  other  hurts.  Nobody  knows  where 
it  will  stop.  Charlie's  limits  have  barely  been  scorched, 
but  there's  fire  all  along  one  side  of  them.  A  change 
of  wind  —  and  there  you  are.  Jack  Fyf e's  timber  is 
burning  in  a  dozen  places.  We've  been  praying  for 
rain  and  choking  in  the  smoke  for  a  week." 


284  BIG   TIMBER 

Stella  looked  out  the  north  window.  From  the  ten- 
story  height  she  could  see  ships  lying  in  the  stream, 
vague  hulks  in  the  smoky  pall  that  shrouded  the  harbor. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  whispered. 

"  It's  devilish,"  Linda  went  on.  "  Like  groping  in 
the  dark  and  being  afraid  —  for  me.  I've  been  married 
a  month,  and  for  ten  days  I've  only  seen  my  husband  at 
brief  intervals  when  he  comes  down  in  the  launch  for 
supplies,  or  to  bring  an  injured  man.  And  he  doesn't 
tell  me  anything  except  that  we  stand  a  fat  chance  of 
losing  everything.  I  sit  there  at  the  Springs,  and  look 
at  that  smoke  wall  hanging  over  the  water,  and  wonder 
what  goes  on  up  there.  And  at  night  there's  the  red 
glow,  very  faint  and  far.  That's  all.  I've  been  doing 
nursing  at  the  hospital  to  help  out  and  to  keep  from 
brooding.  I  wouldn't  be  down  here  now,  only  for  a  list 
of  things  the  doctor  needs,  which  he  thought  could  be 
obtained  quicker  if  some  one  attended  to  it  personally. 
I'm  taking  the  evening  train  back." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Stella  repeated. 

She  said  it  rather  mechanically.  Her  mind  was  spin- 
ning a  thread,  upon  which,  strung  like  beads,  slid  all  the 
manifold  succession  of  things  that  had  happened  since 
she  came  first  to  Roaring  Lake.  Linda's  voice,  con- 
tinuing, broke  into  her  thoughts. 

"  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  be  croaking  into  your  ear  like 
a  bird  of  ill  omen,  when  you  have  to  throw  yourself 
heart  and  soul  into  that  concert  to-morrow,"  she  said 
contritely.  "  I  wonder  why  that  Ancient  Mariner  way 
of  seeking  relief  from  one's  troubles  by  pouring  them 
into  another  ear  is  such  a  universal  trait?  You  aren't 


FIRE   BEHIND    THE    SMOKE          285 

vitally  concerned,  after  all,  and  I  am.  Let's  have  that 
tea,  dear,  and  talk  about  less  grievous  things.  I  still 
have  one  or  two  trifles  to  get  in  the  shops  too." 

After  they  had  finished  the  food  that  Stella  ordered 
sent  up,  they  went  out  together.  Later  Stella  saw  her 
off  on  the  train. 

"  Good-by,  dear,"  Linda  said  from  the  coach  window. 
"  I'm  just  selfish  enough  to  wish  you  were  going  back 
with  me;  I  wish  you  could  sit  with  me  on  the  bank  of 
the  lake,  aching  and  longing  for  your  man  up  there  in 
the  smoke  as  I  ache  and  long  for  mine.  Misery  loves 
company." 

Stella's  eyes  were  clouded  as  the  train  pulled  out. 
Something  in  Linda  Benton's  parting  words  made  her 
acutely  lonely,  dispirited,  out  of  joint  with  the  world 
she  was  deliberately  fashioning  for  herself.  Into 
Linda's  life  something  big  and  elemental  had  come.  The 
butterfly  of  yesterday  had  become  the  strong  man's 
mate  of  to-day.  Linda's  heart  was  unequivocally  up 
there  in  the  smoke  and  flame  with  her  man,  fighting  for 
their  mutual  possessions,  hoping  with  him,  fearing  for 
him,  longing  for  him,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  if 
nothing  else  was  left  them,  they  had  each  other.  It 
was  a  rare  and  beautiful  thing  to  feel  like  that.  And 
beyond  that  sorrowful  vision  of  what  she  lacked  to 
achieve  any  real  and  enduring  happiness,  there  loomed 
also  a  self-torturing  conviction  that  she  herself  had 
set  in  motion  those  forces  which  now  threatened  ruin 
for  her  brother  and  Jack  Fyfe. 

There  was  no  logical  proof  of  this.  Only  intuitive, 
subtle  suggestions  gleaned  here  and  there,  shadowy 


286  BIG   TIMBER 

finger-posts  which  pointed  to  Monohan  as  a  deadly  hater 
and  with  a  score  chalked  up  against  Fyfe  to  which  she 
had  unconsciously  added.  He  had  desired  her,  and 
twice  Fyfe  had  treated  him  like  an  urchin  caught  in 
mischief.  She  recalled  how  Monohan  sprang  at  him 
like  a  tiger  that  day  on  the  lake  shore.  She  realized 
how  bitter  a  humiliation  it  must  have  been  to  suffer  that 
sardonic  cuffing  at  Fyfe's  hands.  Monohan  wasn't  the 
type  of  man  who  would  ever  forget  or  forgive  either  that 
or  the  terrible  grip  on  his  throat. 

Even  at  the  time  she  had  sensed  this  and  dreaded  what 
it  might  ultimately  lead  to.  Even  while  her  being 
answered  eagerly  to  the  physical  charm  of  him,  she  had 
fought  against  admitting  to  herself  what  desperate  in- 
tent might  have  lain  back  of  the  killing  of  Billy  Dale, — 
a  shot  that  Lefty  Howe  declared  was  meant  for  Fyfe. 
She  had  long  outgrown  Monohan's  lure,  but  if  he  had 
come  to  her  or  written  to  make  out  a  case  for  himself 
when  she  first  went  to  Seattle,  she  would  have  accepted 
his  word  against  anything.  Her  heart  would  have 
fought  for  him  against  the  logic  of  her  brain. 

But  —  she  had  had  a  long  time  to  think,  to  compare, 
to  digest  all  that  she  knew  of  him,  much  that  was  sub- 
conscious impression  rising  late  to  the  surface,  a  little 
that  she  heard  from  various  sources.  The  sum  total 
gave  her  a  man  of  rank  passions,  of  rare  and  merciless 
finesse  where  his  desires  figured,  a  man  who  got  what  he 
wanted  by  whatever  means  most  fitly  served  his  need. 
Greater  than  any  craving  to  possess  a  woman  would  be 
the  measure  of  his  rancor  against  a  man  who  humiliated 
him,  thwarted  him.  She  could  understand  how  a  man 


FIRE   BEHIND    THE    SMOKE          287 

like  Monohan  would  hate  a  man  like  Jack  Fyfe,  would 
nurse  and  feed  on  the  venom  of  his  hate  until  setting  a 
torch  to  Fyfe's  timber  would  be  a  likely  enough  counter- 
stroke. 

She  shrank  from  the  thought.  Yet  it  lingered  until 
she  felt  guilty.  Though  it  made  no  material  difference 
to  her  that  Fyfe  might  or  might  not  face  ruin,  she  could 
not,  before  her  own  conscience,  evade  responsibility. 
The  powder  might  have  been  laid,  but  her  folly  had 
touched  spark  to  the  fuse,  as  she  saw  it.  That  seared 
her  like  a  pain  far  into  the  night.  For  every  crime  a 
punishment;  for  every  sin  a  penance.  Her  world  had 
taught  her  that.  She  had  never  danced;  she  had  only 
listened  to  the  piper  and  longed  to  dance,  as  nature  had 
fashioned  her  to  do.  But  the  piper  was  sending  his 
bill.  She  surveyed  it  wearily,  emotionally  bankrupt, 
wondering  in  what  coin  of  the  soul  she  would  have  to 
pay. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    HIDE    BY    XIGHT 

Stella  sang  in  the  gilt  ballroom  of  the  Granada  next 
afternoon,  behind  the  footlights  of  a  miniature  stage, 
with  the  blinds  drawn  and  a  few  hundred  of  Vancouver's 
social  elect  critically,  expectantly  listening.  She  sang 
her  way  straight  into  the  heart  of  that  audience  with 
her  opening  number.  This  was  on  Wednesday.  Friday 
she  sang  again,  and  Saturday  afternoon. 

When  she  came  back  to  her  room  after  that  last  con- 
cert, wearied  with  the  effort  of  listening  to  chattering 
women  and  playing  the  gracious  lady  to  an  admiring 
contingent  which  insisted  upon  making  her  last  appear- 
ance a  social  triumph,  she  found  a  letter  forwarded  from 
Seattle.  She  slit  the  envelope.  A  typewritten  sheet 
enfolded  a  green  slip, —  a  check.  She  looked  at  the 
figures,  scarcely  comprehending  until  she  read  the  letter. 

"  We  take  pleasure  in  handing  you  herewith,"  Mr. 
Lander  wrote  for  the  firm,  "  our  check  for  nineteen 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars,  proceeds  of  oil  stock 
sold  as  per  your  telegraphed  instructions,  less  broker- 
age charges.  We  sold  same  at  par,  and  trust  this  will 
be  satisfactory." 

She  looked  at  the  check  again.  Nineteen  thousand, 
five  hundred  —  payable  to  her  order.  Two  years  ago 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  289 

such  a  sum  would  have  lifted  her  to  plutocratic  heights, 
filled  her  with  pleasurable  excitement,  innumerable  an- 
ticipations. Now  it  stirred  her  less  than  the  three 
hundred  dollars  she  had  just  received  from  the  Granada 
Concert  committee.  She  had  earned  that,  had  given  for 
it  due  measure  of  herself.  This  other  had  come  without 
effort,  without  expectation.  And  less  than  she  had 
ever  needed  money  before  did  she  now  require  such  a 
sum. 

Yet  she  was  sensibly  aware  that  this  windfall  meant 
a  short  cut  to  things  which  she  had  only  looked  to  attain 
by  plodding  over  economic  hills.  She  could  say  good-by 
to  singing  in  photoplay  houses,  to  vaudeville  engage- 
ments, to  concert  work  in  provincial  towns.  She  could 
hitch  her  wagon  to  a  star  and  go  straight  up  the  avenue 
that  led  to  a  career,  if  it  were  in  her  to  achieve  great- 
ness. Pleasant  dreams  in  which  the  buoyant  ego 
soared,  until  the  logical  interpretation  of  her  ambitions 
brought  her  to  a  more  practical  consideration  of  ways 
and  means,  and  that  in  turn  confronted  her  with  the 
fact  that  she  could  leave  the  Pacific  coast  to-morrow 
morning  if  she  so  chose. 

Why  should  she  not  so  choose? 

She  was  her  own  mistress,  free  as  the  wind.  Fyfe 
had  said  that.  She  looked  out  into  the  smoky  veil  that 
shrouded  the  water  front  and  the  hills  across  the  Inlet, 
that  swirled  and  eddied  above  the  giant  fir  in  Stanley 
Park,  and  her  mind  flicked  back  to  Roaring  Lake  where 
the  Red  Flower  of  Kipling's  Jungle  Book  bloomed 
to  her  husband's  ruin.  Did  it?  She  wondered.  She 
could  not  think  of  him  as  beaten,  bested  in  any  under- 


2go  BIG   TIMBER 

taking.  She  had  never  been  able  to  think  of  him  in 
those  terms.  Always  to  her  he  had  conveyed  the  im- 
pression of  a  superman.  Always  she  had  been  a  little 
in  awe  of  him,  of  his  strength,  his  patient,  inflexible  de- 
termination, glimpsing  under  his  habitual  repression 
certain  tremendous  forces.  She  could  not  conceive  him 
as  a  broken  man. 

Staring  out  into  the  smoky  air,  she  wondered  if  the 
fires  at  Roaring  Lake  still  ravaged  that  noble  forest ;  if 
Fyfe's  resources,  like  her  brother's,  were  wholly  involved 
in  standing  timber,  and  if  that  timber  were  doomed? 
She  craved  to  know.  Secured  herself  by  that  green 
slip  in  her  hand  against  every  possible  need,  she  won- 
dered if  it  were  ordained  that  the  two  men  whose  pos- 
session of  material  resources  had  molded  her  into  what 
she  was  to-day  should  lose  all,  be  reduced  to  the  same 
stress  that  had  made  her  an  unwilling  drudge  in  her 
brother's  kitchen.  Then  she  recalled  that  for  Charlie 
there  was  an  equivalent  sum  due,—1-  a  share  like  her 
own.  At  the  worst,  he  had  the  nucleus  of  another  for- 
tune. 

Curled  among  the  pillows  of  her  bed  that  night,  she 
looked  over  the  evening  papers,  read  with  a  swift  heart- 
sinking  that  the  Roaring  Lake  fire  was  assuming  terrific 
proportions,  that  nothing  but  a  deluge  of  rain  would 
stay  it  now.  And  more  significantly,  except  for  a  minor 
blaze  or  two,  the  fire  raged  almost  wholly  upon  and 
around  the  Fyfe  block  of  limits.  She  laid  aside  the 
papers,  switched  off  the  lights,  and  lay  staring  wide- 
eyed  at  the  dusky  ceiling. 

At  twenty  minutes  of  midnight  she  was  called  to  the 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  agi 

door  of  her  room  to  receive  a  telegram.     It  was  from 
Linda,  and  it  read : 

"  Charlie  badly  hurt.     Can  you  come  ?  " 

Stella  reached  for  the  telephone  receiver.  The  night 
clerk  at  the  C.  P.  R.  depot  told  her  the  first  train  she 
could  take  left  at  six  in  the  morning.  That  meant 
reaching  the  Springs  at  nine-thirty.  Nine  and  a  half 
hours  to  sit  with  idle  hands,  in  suspense.  She  did  not 
knew  what  tragic  denouement  awaited  there,  what  she 
could  do  once  she  reached  there.  She  knew  only  that  a 
fever  of  impatience  burned  in  her.  The  message  had 
strung  her  suddenly  taut,  as  if  a  crisis  had  arisen  in 
which  willy-nilly  she  must  take  a  hand. 

So,  groping  for  the  relief  of  action,  some  method  of 
spanning  that  nine  hours'  wait,  her  eye  fell  upon  a  card 
tucked  beside  the  telephone  case.  She  held  it  between 
finger  and  thumb,  her  brows  puckered. 

TAXIS  AND  TOURING  CARS 

Anywhere  .  .  .  Anytime 

She  took  down  the  receiver  again  and  asked  for  Sey- 
mour 9X. 

"  Western  Taxi,''  a  man's  voice  drawled. 

"  I  want  to  reach  Roaring  Hot  Springs  in  the  short- 
est time  possible,"  she  told  him  rather  breathlessly. 
"  Can  you  furnish  me  a  machine  and  a  reliable  chauf- 
feur? " 

"  Roaring  Springs  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  How  many 
passengers  ?  " 


292  BIG   TIMBER 

"  One.     Myself." 

"  Just  a  minute." 

She  heard  a  faint  burble  of  talk  away  at  the  other 
end  of  the  wire.  Then  the  same  voice  speaking  crisply. 

"  We  gotta  big  six  roadster,  and  a  first-class  driver. 
It'll  cost  you  seventy-five  dollars  —  in  advance." 

"  Your  money  will  be  waiting  for  you  here,"  she 
answered  calmly.  "  How  soon  can  you  bring  the  car 
around  to  the  Hotel  Granada?  " 

"  In  ten  minutes,  if  you  say  so." 

"  Say  twenty  minutes,  then." 

"  All  right." 

She  dressed  herself,  took  the  elevator  down  to  the 
lobby,  instructed  the  night  clerk  to  have  a  maid  pack 
her  trunk  and  send  it  by  express  to  Hopyard,  care  of 
St.  Allwoods  Hotel  on  the  lake.  Then  she  walked  out 
to  the  broad-stepped  carriage  entrance. 

A  low-hung  long-hooded,  yellow  car  stood  there, 
exhaust  purring  faintly.  She  paid  the  driver,  sank 
into  the  soft  upholstering  beside  him,  and  the  big  six 
slid  out  into  the  street.  There  was  no  traffic.  In  a 
few  minutes  they  were  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  the 
long  asphalt  ribbon  of  King's  Way  lying  like  a  silver 
band  between  green,  bushy  walls.  They  crossed  the 
last  car  track.  The  driver  spoke  to  her  out  of  one 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Wanna  make  time,  huh  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  get  to  Roaring  Lake  as  quickly  as  you 
can  drive,  without  taking  chances." 

"  I  know  the  road  pretty  well,"  he  assured  her. 
"  Drove  a  party  clear  to  Rosebud  day  before  yester- 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  293 

day.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  Can't  drive  too  fast  at 
night.  Too  smoky." 

She  could  not  gage  his  conception  of  real  speed  if  the 
gait  he  struck  was  not  "  too  fast."  They  were  through 
New  Westminster  and  rolling  across  the  Fraser  bridge 
before  she  was  well  settled  in  the  seat,  breasting  the  road 
with  a  lurch  and  a  swing  at  the  curves,  a  noise  under 
that  long  hood  like  giant  bees  in  an  empty  barrel. 

Ninety  miles  of  road  good,  bad  and  indifferent,  forest 
and  farm  and  rolling  hill,  and  the  swamps  of  Sumas 
Prairie,  lies  between  Vancouver  and  Roaring  Lake.  At 
four  in  the  morning,  with  dawn  an  hour  old,  they  woke 
the  Rosebud  ferryman  to  cross  the  river.  Twenty 
minutes  after  that  Stella  was  stepping  stiffly  out  of  the 
machine  before  Roaring  Springs  hospital.  The  doc- 
tor's Chinaman  was  abroad  in  the  garden.  She 
beckoned  him. 

"You  sabe  Mr.  Benton  —  Charlie  Benton? "  she 
asked.  "  He  in  doctor's  house?  " 

The  Chinaman  pointed  across  the  road.  "  Mist 
Bentle  obah  dah,"  he  said.  "  Velly  much  sick.  Missa 
Bentle  lib  dah,  all  same  gleen  house." 

Stella  ran  across  the  way.  The  front  door  of  the 
green  cottage  stood  wide.  An  electric  drop  light  burned 
in  the  front  room,  though  it  was  broad  day.  When 
she  crossed  the  threshold,  she  saw  Linda  sitting  in  a 
chair,  her  arms  folded  on  the  table-edge,  her  head  rest- 
ing on  her  hands.  She  was  asleep,  and  she  did  not  raise 
her  head  till  Stella  shook  her  shoulder. 

Linda  Abbey  had  been  a  pretty  girl,  very  fair,  with 
apple-blossom  skin  and  a  wonderfully  expressive  face. 


294  BIG   TIMBER 

It  gave  Stella  a  shock  to  see  her  now,  to  gage  her  suffer- 
ing by  the  havoc  it  had  wrought.  Linda  looked  old, 
haggard,  drawn.  There  was  a  weary  droop  to  her 
mouth,  her  eyes  were  dull,  lifeless,  just  as  one  might 
look  who  is  utterly  exhausted  in  mind  and  body.  Oddly 
enough,  she  spoke  first  of  something  irrelevant,  inconse- 
quential. 

"  I  fell  asleep,"  she  said  heavily.  "  What  time 
is  it?" 

Stella  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  Half -past  four,"  she  answered.  "  How  is  Charlie  ? 
What  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  Monohan  shot  him." 

Stella  caught  her  breath.  She  hadn't  been  prepared 
for  that. 

"  Is  he  —  is  he  — "  she  could  not  utter  the  words. 

"  He'll  get  better.  Wait."  Linda  rose  stiffly  from 
her  seat.  A  door  in  one  side  of  the  room  stood  ajar. 
She  opened  it,  and  Stella,  looking  over  her  shoulder,  saw 
her  brother's  tousled  head  on  a  pillow.  A  nurse  in  uni- 
form sat  beside  his  bed.  Linda  closed  the  door  silently. 

"  Come  into  the  kitchen  where  we  won't  make  a 
noise,"  she  whispered. 

A  fire  burned  in  the  kitchen  stove.  Linda  sank  into 
a  willow  rocker. 

"  I'm  weary  as  Atlas,"  she  said.  "  I've  been  fretting 
for  so  long.  Then  late  yesterday  afternoon  they 
brought  him  home  to  me  —  like  that.  The  doctor  was 
probing  for  the  bullet  when  I  wired  you.  I  was  in  a 
panic  then,  I  think.  Half-past  four!  How  did  you 
get  here  so  soon?  How  could  you?  There's  no  train." 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  295 

Stella  told  her. 

"  Why  should  Monohan  shoot  him  ?  "  she  broke  out. 
"  For  God's  sake,  talk,  Linda !  " 

There  was  a  curious  impersonality  in  Linda's  man- 
ner, as  if  she  stood  aloof  from  it  all,  as  if  the  fire  of  her 
vitality  had  burned  out.  She  lay  back  in  her  chair  with 
eyelids  drooping,  speaking  in  dull,  lifeless  tones. 

"  Monohan  shot  him  because  Charlie  came  on  him  in 
the  woods  setting  a  fresh  fire.  They've  suspected  him, 
or  some  one  in  his  pay,  of  that,  and  they've  been  watch- 
ing. There  were  two  other  men  with  Charlie,  so  there 
is  no  mistake.  Monohan  got  away.  That's  all  I  know. 
Oh,  but  I'm  tired.  I've  been  hanging  on  to  myself  for 
so  long.  About  daylight,  after  we  knew  for  sure  that 
Charlie  was  over  the  hill,  something  seemed  to  let  go  in 
me.  I'm  awful  glad  you  came,  Stella.  Can  you  make 
a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

Stella  could  and  did,  but  she  drank  none  of  it  herself. 
A  dead  weight  of  apprehension  lay  like  lead  in  her 
breast.  Her  conscience  pointed  a  deadly  finger.  First 
Billy  Dale,  now  her  brother,  and,  sandwiched  in  between, 
the  loosed  fire  furies  which  were  taking  toll  in  bodily 
injury  and  ruinous  loss. 

Yet  she  was  helpless.  The  matter  was  wholly  out  of 
her  hands,  and  she  stood  aghast  before  it,  much  as  the 
small  child  stands  aghast  before  the  burning  house  he 
has  fired  by  accident. 

Fyfe  next.  That  was  the  ultimate,  the  culmination, 
which  would  leave  her  forever  transfixed  with  remorseful 
horror.  The  fact  that  already  the  machinery  of  the 
law  which  would  eventually  bring  Monohan  to  book  for 


2g6  BIG   TIMBER 

the  double  lawlessness  of  arson  and  attempted  homicide 
must  be  in  motion,  that  the  Provincial  police  would  be 
hard  on  his  trail,  did  not  occur  to  her.  She  could  only 
visualize  him  progressing  step  by  step  from  one  lawless 
deed  to  another.  And  in  her  mind  every  step  led  to 
Jack  Fyfe,  who  had  made  a  mock  of  him.  She  found 
her  hands  clenching  till  the  nails  dug  deep. 

Linda's  head  drooped  over  the  teacup.  Her  eyelids 
blinked. 

"  Dear,"  Stella  said  tenderly,  "  come  and  lie  down. 
You're  worn  out." 

"Perhaps  I'd  better,"  Linda  muttered.  "There's 
another  room  in  there." 

Stella  tucked  the  weary  girl  into  the  bed,  and  went 
back  to  the  kitchen,  and  sat  down  in  the  willow  rocker. 
After  another  hour  the  nurse  came  out  and  prepared  her 
own  breakfast.  Benton  was  still  sleeping.  He  was  in 
no  danger,  the  nurse  told  Stella.  The  bullet  had  driven 
cleanly  through  his  body,  missing  as  by  a  miracle  any 
vital  part,  and  lodged  in  the  muscles  of  his  back,  whence 
the  surgeon  had  removed  it.  Though  weak  from  shock, 
loss  of  blood,  excitement,  he  had  rallied  splendidly,  and 
fallen  into  a  normal  sleep. 

Later  the  doctor  confirmed  this.  He  made  light  of 
the  wound.  One  couldn't  kill  a  young  man  as  full  of 
vitality  as  Charlie  Benton  with  an  axe,  he  informed 
Stella  with  an  optimistic  smile.  Which  lifted  one  bur- 
den from  her  mind. 

The  night  nurse  went  away,  and  another  from  the 
hospital  took  her  place.  Benton  slept;  Linda  slept. 
The  house  was  very  quiet.  To  Stella,  brooding  in  that 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  297 

kitchen  chair,  it  became  oppressive,  that  funeral  hush. 
When  it  was  drawing  near  ten  o'clock,  she  walked  up 
the  road  past  the  corner  store  and  post-office,  and  so 
out  to  the  end  of  the  wharf. 

The  air  was  hot  and  heavy,  pungent,  gray  with  the 
smoke.  Farther  along,  St.  Allwoods  bulked  mistily 
amid  its  grounds.  The  crescent  of  shore  line  half  a 
mile  distant  was  wholly  obscured.  Up  over  the  eastern 
mountain  range  the  sun,  high  above  the  murk,  hung 
like  a  bloody  orange,  rayless  and  round.  No  hotel 
guests  strolled  by  pairs  and  groups  along  the  bank. 
She  could  understand  that  no  one  would  come  for  pleas- 
ure into  that  suffocating  atmosphere.  Caught  in  that 
great  bowl  of  which  the  lake  formed  the  watery  bottom, 
the  smoke  eddied  and  rolled  like  a  cloud  of  mist. 

She  stood  a  while  gazing  at  the  glassy  surface  of  the 
lake  where  it  spread  to  her  vision  a  little  way  beyond 
the  piles.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  green  cottage. 

Benton  lifted  alert,  recognizing  eyes  when  she  peeped 
in  the  bedroom  door. 

"  Hello,  Sis,"  he  greeted  in  strangely  subdued  tones. 
"  When  did  you  blow  in  ?  I  thought  you'd  deserted  the 
sinking  ship  completely.  Come  on  in." 

She  winced  inwardly  at  his  words,  but  made  no  out- 
ward sign,  as  she  came  up  to  his  bedside.  The  nurse 
went  out. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  not  talk?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  he  retorted  feebly.  "  I'm  all  right. 
Sore  as  the  mischief  and  weak.  But  I  don't  feel  as  bad 
as  I  might.  Linda  still  asleep?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  Stella  answered. 


298  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Poor  kid,"  he  breathed ;  "  it's  been  tough  on  her. 
Well,  I  guess  it's  been  tough  on  everybody.  He  turned 
out  to  be  some  bad  actor,  this  Monohan  party.  I  never 
did  like  the  beggar.  He  was  a  little  too  high-handed  in 
his  smooth,  kid-glove  way.  But  I  didn't  suppose  he'd 
try  to  burn  up  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  timber  to 
satisfy  a  grudge.  Well,  he  put  his  foot  in  it  proper 
at  last.  He'll  get  a  good  long  jolt  in  the  pen,  if  the 
boys  don't  beat  the  constables  to  him  and  take  him  to 
pieces." 

"  He  did  start  the  fire  then?  "  Stella  muttered. 

"  I  guess  so,"  Benton  replied.  "  At  any  rate,  he 
kept  it  going.  Did  it  by  his  lonesome,  too.  Jack  sus- 
pected that.  We  were  watching  for  him  as  well  as 
fighting  fire.  He'd  come  down  from  the  head  of  the 
lake  in  that  speed  boat  of  his,  and  this  time  daylight 
caught  him  before  he  could  get  back  to  where  he  had 
her  cached,  after  starting  a  string  of  little  fires  in  the 
edge  of  my  north  limit.  He  had  it  in  for  me,  too,  you 
know ;  I  batted  him  over  the  head  with  a  pike-pole  here 
at  the  wharf  one  day  this  spring,  so  he  plunked  me  as 
soon  as  I  hollered  at  him.  I  wish  he'd  done  it  earlier 
in  the  game.  We  might  have  saved  a  lot  of  good  timber. 
As  it  was,  we  couldn't  do  much.  Every  time  the  wind 
changed,  it  would  break  out  in  a  new  place  —  too  often 
to  be  accidental.  Damn  him !  " 

"  How  is  it  going  to  end,  the  fire  ?  "  Stella  forced  her- 
self to  ask.  "  Will  you  and  Jack  be  able  to  save  any 
timber?" 

"  If  it  should  rain  hard,  and  if  in  the  meantime  the 
boys  keep  it  from  jumping  the  fire-trails  we've  cut,  I'll 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  299 

get  by  with  most  of  mine,"  he  said.  "  But  Jack's  done 
for.  He  won't  have  anything  but  his  donkeys  and  gear 
and  part  of  a  cedar  limit  on  the  Tyee  which  isn't  paid 
for.  He  had  practically  everything  tied  up  in  that  big 
block  of  timber  around  the  Point.  Monohan  made  him 
spend  money  like  water  to  hold  his  own.  Jack's  broke." 

Stella's  head  drooped.  Benton  reached  out  an  axe- 
calloused  hand,  all  grimy  and  browned  from  the  stress 
of  fire  fighting,  and  covered  her  soft  fingers  that  rested 
on  his  bed. 

"  It's  a  pity  everything's  gone  to  pot  like  that, 
Stell,"  he  said  softly.  "  I've  grown  a  lot  wiser  in  human 
ways  the  last  two  years.  You  taught  me  a  lot,  and 
Jack  a  lot,  and  Linda  the  rest.  It  seems  a  blamed  shame 
you  and  Jack  came  to  a  fork  in  the  road.  Oh,  he  never 
chirped.  I've  just  guessed  it  the  last  few  weeks.  I 
owe  him  a  lot  that  he'll  never  let  me  pay  back  in  any- 
thing but  good  will.  I  hate  to  see  him  get  the  worst 
of  it  from  every  direction.  He  grins  and  doesn't  say 
anything.  But  I  know  it  hurts.  There  can't  be  any- 
thing much  wrong  between  you  two.  Why  don't  you 
forget  your  petty  larceny  troubles  and  start  all  over 
again  ?  " 

"  I  can't,"  she  whispered.  "  It  wouldn't  work. 
There's  too  many  scars.  Too  much  that's  hard  to 
forget." 

"  Well,  you  know  about  that  better  than  I  do,"  Ben- 
ton  said  thoughtfully.  "  It  all  depends  on  how  you 
feel." 

The  poignant  truth  of  that  struck  miserably  home 
to  her.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  reason  or  logic,  of  her 


3oo  BIG   TIMBER 

making  any  sacrifice  for  her  conscience  sake.  It  de- 
pended solely  upon  the  existence  of  an  emotion  she  could 
not  definitely  invoke.  She  was  torn  by  so  many  emo- 
tions, not  one  of  which  she  could  be  sure  was  the  vital, 
the  necessary  one.  Her  heart  did  not  cry  out  for  Jack 
Fyfe,  except  in  a  pitying  tenderness,  as  she  used  to  feel 
for  Jack  Junior  when  he  bumped  and  bruised  himself. 
She  had  felt  that  before  and  held  it  too  weak  a  crutch 
to  lean  upon. 

The  nurse  came  in  with  a  cup  of  broth  for  Benton, 
and  Stella  went  away  with  a  dumb  ache  in  her  breast,  a 
leaden  sinking  of  her  spirits,  and  went  out  to  sit  on  the 
porch  steps.  The  minutes  piled  into  hours,  and  noon 
came,  when  Linda  wakened.  Stella  forced  herself  to 
swallow  a  cup  of  tea,  to  eat  food;  then  she  left  Linda 
sitting  with  her  husband  and  went  back  to  the  porch 
steps  again. 

As  she  sat  there,  a  man  dressed  in  the  blue  shirt  and 
mackinaw  trousers  and  high,  calked  boots  of  the  logger 
turned  in  off  the  road,  a  burly  woodsman  that  she 
recognized  as  one  of  Jack  Fyfe's  crew. 

"Well,"   said  he,  "if  it  ain't  Mrs.   Jack.     Say - 
ah—" 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  a  perplexed  look  on  his  face, 
an  uneasiness,  a  hesitation  in  his  manner. 

"  What  is  it,  Barlow?  "  Stella  asked  kindly.  "  How 
is  everything  up  the  lake  ?  " 

It  was  common  enough  in  her  experience,  that  tem- 
porary embarrassment  of  a  logger  before  her.  She 
knew  them  for  men  with  boyish  souls,  boyish  instincts, 
rude  simplicities  of  heart.  Long  ago  she  had  revised 


A    RIDE   BY    NIGHT  301, 

those  first  superficial  estimates  of  them  as  gross,  hulk- 
ing brutes  who  worked  hard  and  drank  harder,  coars- 
ened and  calloused  by  their  occupation.  They  had  their 
weaknesses,  but  their  virtues  of  abiding  loyalty,  their 
reckless  generosity,  their  simple  directness,  were  great 
indeed.  They  took  their  lives  in  their  hands  on  skid- 
road  and  spring-board,  that  such  as  she  might  flourish. 
They  did  not  understand  that,  but  she  did. 

"What  is  it,  Barlow?"  she  repeated.  "Have  you 
just  come  down  the  lake?" 

"  Yes'm,"  he  answered.  "  Say,  Jack  don't  happen 
to  be  here,  does  he  ?  " 

"  No,  he  hasn't  been  here,"  she  told  him. 

The  man's  face  fell. 

"  What's  wrong? "  Stella  demanded.  She  had  a 
swift  divination  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno's  anythin's  wrong,  particular,"  Barlow 
replied.  "  Only  —  well,  Lefty  he  sent  me  down  to  see 
if  Jack  was  at  the  Springs.  We  ain't  seen  him  for  a 
couple  uh  days." 

Her  pulse  tjuickened. 

"  And  he  has  not  come  down  the  lake  ?  " 

"  I  guess  not,"  the  logger  said.  "  Oh,  J  guess  it's 
all  right.  Jack's  pretty  skookum  in  the  woods.  Only 
Lefty  got  uneasy.  It's  desperate  hot  and  smoky  up 
there." 

"  How  did  you  come  down?  Are  you  going  back 
soon?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  got  the  Waterbug,"  Barlow  told  her.  "  I'm  goin' 
right  straight  back." 

Stella  looked  out  over  the  smoky  lake  and  back  at 


302  BIG   TIMBER 

the  logger  again,  a  sudden  resolution  born  of  intoler- 
able uncertainty,  of  a  feeling  that  she  could  only  char- 
acterize as  fear,  sprang  full-fledged  into  her  mind. 
"  Wait  for  me,"  she  said.     "  I'm  going  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"  OUT    OP    THE    NIGHT    THAT    COVERS    ME  " 

The  Waterbug  limped.  Her  engine  misfired  con- 
tinuously, and  Barlow  lacked  the  mechanical  knowledge 
to  remedy  its  ailment/  He  was  satisfied  to  let  it  pound 
away,  so  long  as  it  would  revolve  at  all.  So  the  boat 
moved  slowly  through  that  encompassing  smoke  at  less 
than  half  speed.  Outwardly  the  once  spick  and  span 
cruiser  bore  every  mark  of  hard  usage.  Her  topsides 
were  foul,  her  decks  splintered  by  the  tramping  of 
calked  boots,  grimy  with  soot  and  cinders.  It  seemed 
to  Stella  that  everything  and  every  one  on  and  about 
Roaring  Lake  bore  some  mark  of  that  holocaust  raging 
in  the  timber,  as  if  the  fire  were  some  malignant  disease 
menacing  and  marring  all  that  it  affected,  and  affecting 
all  that  trafficked  within  its  smoky  radius. 

But  of  the  fire  itself  she  could  see  nothing,  even  when 
late  in  the  afternoon  they  drew  in  to  the  bay  before 
her  brother's  camp.  A  heavier  smoke  cloud,  more 
pungent  of  burning  pitch,  blanketed  the  shores,  lifted 
in  blue,  rolling  masses  farther  back.  A  greater  heat 
made  the  air  stifling,  causing  the  eyes  to  smart  and  grow 
watery.  That  was  the  only  difference. 

Barlow  laid  the  Waterbug  alongside  the  float.  He 
had  already  told  her  that  Lefty  Howe,  with  the  greater 
part  of  Fyfe's  crew,  was  extending  and  guarding  Ben- 


304  BIG   TIMBER 

ton's  fire-trail,  and  he  half  expected  that  Fyfe  might 
have  turned  up  there.  Away  back  in  the  smoke  arose 
spasmodic  coughing  of  donkey  engines,  dull  resounding 
of  axe-blades.  Barlow  led  the  way.  They  traversed  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  path  through  brush,  broken  tops, 
and  stumps,  coming  at  last  into  a  fairway  cut  through 
virgin  timber,  a  sixty-foot  strip  denuded  of  every 
growth,  great  firs  felled  and  drawn  far  aside,  brush 
piled  and  burned.  A  breastwork  from  which  to  fight 
advancing  fire,  it  ran  away  into  the  heart  of  a  smoky 
forest.  Here  and  there  blackened,  fire-scorched  patches 
abutted  upon  its  northern  flank,  stumps  of  great  trees 
smoldering,  crackling  yet.  At  the  first  such  place,  half 
a  dozen  men  were  busy  with  shovels  blotting  out  streaks 
of  fire  that  crept  along  in  the  dry  leaf  mold.  No,  they 
had  not  seen  Fyfe.  But  they  had  been  blamed  busy. 
He  might  be  up  above. 

Half  a  mile  beyond  that,  beside  the  first  donkey  shud- 
dering on  its  anchored  skids  as  it  tore  an  eighteen-inch 
cedar  out  by  the  roots,  they  came  on  Lefty  Howe.  He 
shook  his  head  when  Stella  asked  for  Fyfe. 

"  He  took  twenty  men  around  to  the  main  camp  day 
before  yesterday,"  said  Lefty.  "  There  was  a  piece  uh 
timber  beyond  that  he  thought  he  could  save.  I  — 
well,  I  took  a  shoot  around  there  yesterday,  after  your 
brother  got  hurt.  Jack  wasn't  there.  Most  of  the 
boys  was  at  camp  loadin'  gear  on  the  scows.  They 
said  Jack's  gone  around  to  Tumblin'  Creek  with  one 
man.  He  wasn't  back  this  mornin'.  So  I  thought 
maybe  he'd  gone  to  the  Springs.  I  dunno's  there's  any 
occasion  to  worry.  He  might  'a'  gone  to  the  head  uh 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT'  305 

the  lake  with  them  constables  that  went  up  last  night. 
How's  Charlie  Benton?  " 

She  told  him  briefly. 

"  That's  good,"  said  Lefty.  "  Now,  I'd  go  around 
to  Cougar  Bay,  if  I  was  you,  Mrs.  Jack.  He's  liable 
to  come  in  there,  any  time.  You  could  stay  at  the  house 
to-night.  Everything  around  there,  shacks  'n'  all,  was 
burned  days  ago,  so  the  fire  can't  touch  the  house.  The 
crew  there  has  grub  an'  a  cook.  I  kinda  expect  Jack'll 
be  there,  unless  he  fell  in  with  them  constables." 

She  trudged  silently  back  to  the  Waterbug.  Barlow 
started  the  engine,  and  the  boat  took  up  her  slow  way. 
As  they  skirted  the  shore,  Stella  began  to  see  here  and 
there  the  fierce  havoc  of  the  fire.  Black  trunks  of  fir 
reared  nakedly  to  the  smoky  sky,  lay  crisscross  on  bank 
and  beach.  Nowhere  was  there  a  green  blade,  a  living 
bush.  Nothing  but  charred  black,  a  melancholy  waste 
of  smoking  litter,  with  here  and  there  a  pitch-soaked 
stub  still  waving  its  banner  of  flame,  or  glowing  redly. 
Back  of  those  seared  skeletons  a  shifting  cloud  of  smoke 
obscured  everything. 

Presently  they  drew  in  to  Cougar  Bay.  Men  moved 
about  on  the  beach;  two  bulky  scows  stood  nose-on  to 
the  shore.  Upon  them  rested  half  a  dozen  donkey  en- 
gines, thick-bellied,  upright  machines,  blown  down,  dead 
on  their  skids.  About  these  in  great  coils  lay  piled  the 
gear  of  logging,  miles  of  steel  cable,  blocks,  the  varied 
tools  of  the  logger's  trade.  The  Panther  lay  between 
the  scows,  with  lines  from  each  passed  over  her  towing 
bitts. 

Stella  could  see  the  outline  of  the  white  bungalow  on 


306  BIG   TIMBER 

its  grassy  knoll.  They  had  saved  only  that,  of  all  the 
camp,  by  a  fight  that  sent  three  men  to  the  hospital,  on 
a  day  when  the  wind  shifted  into  the  northwest  and 
sent  a  sheet  of  flame  rolling  through  the  timber  and 
down  on  Cougar  Bay  like  a  tidal  wave.  So  Barlow 
told  her.  He  cupped  his  hands  now  and  called  to  his 
fellows  on  the  beach. 

No,  Fyfe  had  not  come  back  yet. 

"  Go  up  to  the  mouth  of  Tumbling  Creek,"  Stella 
ordered. 

Barlow  swung  the  Waterbug  about,  cleared  the  point, 
and  stood  up  along  the  shore.  Stella  sat  on  a 
cushioned  seat  at  the  back  of  the  pilot  house,  hard- 
eyed,  struggling  against  that  dead  weight  that  seemed 
to  grow  and  grow  in  her  breast.  That  elemental 
fury  raging  in  the  woods  made  her  shrink.  Her  own 
hand  had  helped  to  loose  it,  but  her  hands  were  power- 
less to  stay  it;  she  could  only  sit  and  watch  and  wait, 
eaten  up  with  misery  of  her  own  making.  She  was  hor- 
ribly afraid,  with  a  fear  she  would  not  name  to  herself. 

Behind  that  density  of  atmosphere,  the  sun  had  gone 
to  rest.  The  first  shadows  of  dusk  were  closing  in, 
betokened  by  a  thickening  of  the  smoke-fog  into  which 
the  Waterbug  slowly  plowed.  To  port  a  dimming 
shore  line ;  to  starboard,  aft,  and  dead  ahead,  water  and 
air  merged  in  two  boat  lengths.  Barlow  leaned  through 
the  pilot-house  window,  one  hand  on  the  wheel,  straining 
his  eyes  on  their  course.  Suddenly  he  threw  out  the 
clutch,  shut  down  his  throttle  control  with  one  hand, 
and  yanked  with  the  other  at  the  cord  which  loosed  the 
Waterbug's  shrill  whistle. 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT'  307 

Dead  ahead,  almost  upon  them,  came  an  answering 
toot. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  gas-boat,"  Barlow  exclaimed. 
"  Sufferin'  Jerusalem !  Hi,  there !  " 

He  threw  his  weight  on  the  wheel,  sending  it  hard 
over.  The  cruiser  still  had  way  on ;  the  momentum  of 
her  ten-ton  weight  scarcely  had  slackened,  and  she 
answered  the  helm.  Out  of  the  deceptive  thickness 
ahead  loomed  the  sharp,  flaring  bow  of  another  forty- 
footer,  sheering  quickly,  as  her  pilot  sighted  them.  She 
was  upon  them,  and  abreast,  and  gone,  with  a  watery 
purl  of  her  bow  wave,  a  subdued  mutter  of  exhaust,  pass- 
ing so  near  than  an  active  man  could  have  leaped  the 
space  between. 

"  Sufferin'  Jerusalem !  "  Barlow  repeated,  turning  to 
Stella.  "Did  you  see  that,  Mrs.  Jack?  They  got 
him." 

Stella  nodded.  She  too  had  seen  Monohan  seated  on 
the  after  deck,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  irons  on  his 
wrists.  A  glimpse,  no  more. 

"That'll  help  some,"  Barlow  grunted.  "Quick 
work.  But  they  come  blame  near  cuttin'  us  down, 
beltin'  along  at  ten  knots  when  you  can't  see  forty  feet 
ahead." 

An  empty  beach  greeted  them  at  Tumbling  Creek. 
Reluctantly  Stella  bade  Barlow  turn  back.  It  would 
soon  be  dark,  and  Barlow  said  he  would  be  taking 
chances  of  piling  on  the  shore  before  he  could  see  it,  or 
getting  lost  in  the  profound  black  that  would  shut  down 
on  the  water  with  daylight's  end. 

Less  than  a  mile  from  Cougar  Bay,  the  Waterbug's 


3o8  BIG   TIMBER 

engine  gave  a  few  premonitory  gasps  and  died.  Barlow 
descended  to  the  engine  room,  hooked  up  the  trouble 
lamp,  and  sought  for  the  cause.  He  could  not  find  it. 
Stella  could  hear  him  muttering  profanity,  turning  the 
flywheel  over,  getting  an  occasional  explosion. 

An  hour  passed.  Dark  of  the  Pit  descended,  shroud- 
ing the  lake  with  a  sable  curtain,  close-folded,  im- 
penetrable. The  dead  stillness  of  the  day  vanished  be- 
fore a  hot  land  breeze,  and  Stella,  as  she  felt  the  launch 
drift,  knew  by  her  experience  on  the  lake  that  they  were 
moving  offshore.  Presently  this  was  confirmed,  for  out 
of  the  black  wall  on  the  west,  from  which  the  night  wind 
brought  stifling  puffs  of  smoke,  there  lifted  a  yellow 
effulgence  that  grew  to  a  red  glare  as  the  boat  drifted 
out.  Soon  that  red  glare  was  a  glowing  line  that  rose 
and  fell,  dipping  and  rising  and  wavering  along  a 
two-mile  stretch,  a  fiery  surf  beating  against  the  for- 
est. 

Down  in  the  engine  room  Barlow  finally  located  the 
trouble,  and  the  motor  took  up  its  labors,  spinning 
Avith  a  rhythmic  chatter  of  valves.  The  man  came  up 
into  the  pilot  house,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  grimy 
face. 

"  Gee,  I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Fyfe,"  he  said.  "  A  gas- 
engine  man  would  'a'  fixed  that  in  five  minutes.  Took 
me  two  hours  to  find  out  what  was  wrong.  It'll  be  a 
heck  of  a  job  to  fetch  Cougar  Bay  now." 

But  by  luck  Barlow  made  his  way  back,  blundering 
fairly  into  the  landing  at  the  foot  of  the  path  that  led 
to  the  bungalow,  as  if  the  cruiser  knew  the  way  to  her 
old  berth.  And  as  he  reached  the  float,  the  front  win- 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT'  309 

dows  on  the  hillock  broke  out  yellow,  pale  blurs  in  the 
smoky  night. 

"  Well,  say,"  Barlow  pointed.  "  I  bet  a  nickel  Jack's 
home.  See?  Nobody  but  him  would  be  in  the  house." 

"  I'll  go  up,"  Stella  said. 

"  All  right,  I  guess  you  know  the  path  better'n  I  do," 
Barlow  said.  "  I'll  take  the  Bug  around  into  the 
bay." 

Stella  ran  up  the  path.  She  halted  halfway  up  the 
steps  and  leaned  against  the  rail  to  catch  her  breath. 
Then  she  went  on.  Her  step  was  noiseless,  for  tucked 
in  behind  a  cushion  aboard  the  Waterbug  she  had  found 
an  old  pair  of  her  own  shoes,  rubber-soled,  and  she  had 
put  them  on  to  ease  the  ache  in  her  feet  born  of  thirty- 
six  hours'  encasement  in  leather.  She  gained  the  door 
without  a  sound.  It  was  wide  open,  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  big  room  Jack  Fyfe  stood  with  hands  thrust  deep 
in  his  pockets,  staring  absently  at  the  floor. 

She  took  a  step  or  two  inside.  Fyfe  did  not  hear 
her ;  he  did  not  look  up. 

"  Jack." 

He  gave  ever  so  slight  a  start,  glanced  up,  stood  with 
head  thrown  back  a  little.  But  he  did  not  move,  or 
answer,  and  Stella,  looking  at  him,  seeing  the  flame  that 
glowed  in  his  eyes,  could  not  speak.  Something  seemed 
to  choke  her,  something  that  was  a  strange  compound 
of  relief  and  bewilderment  and  a  slow  wonder  at  her- 
self,—  at  the  queer,  unsteady  pounding  of  her  heart. 

"  How  did  you  get  way  up  here  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Linda  wired  last  night  that  Charlie  was  hurt.  I 
got  a  machine  to  the  Springs.  Then  Barlow  came  down 


3io  BIG   TIMBER 

this  afternoon  looking  for  you.     He  said  you'd  been 
missing  for  two  days.     So  I  —  I  — " 

She  broke  off.  Fyfe  was  walking  toward  her  with 
that  peculiar,  lightfooted  step  of  his,  a  queer,  tense 
look  on  his  face. 

"  Nero  fiddled  when  Rome  was  burning,"  he  said 
harshly.  "  Did  you  come  to  sing  while  my  Rome  goes 
up  in  smoke  ?  " 

A  little,  half-strangled  sob  escaped  her.  She  turned 
to  go.  But  he  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  There,  lady,"  he  said,  with  a  swift  change  of  tone, 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  slash  at  you.  I  suppose  you  mean 
all  right.  But  just  now,  with  everything  gone  to  the 
devil,  to  look  up  and  see  you  here  —  I've  really  got  an 
ugly  temper,  Stella,  and  it's  pretty  near  the  surface 
these  days.  I  don't  want  to  be  pitied  and  sympathized 
with.  I  want  to  fight.  I  want  to  hurt  somebody." 

"  Hurt  me  then,"  she  cried. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  couldn't  do  that,"  he  said.  "  No,  I  can't  imagine 
myself  ever  doing  that." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  knowing  why,  but  wishful  to 
hear  in  words  what  his  eyes  shouted. 

"  Because  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "  You  know  well 
enough  why." 

She  lifted  her  one  free  hand  to  his  shoulder.  Her 
face  turned  up  to  h's.  A  warm  wave  of  blood  dyed  the 
round,  white  neck,  shot  up  into  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes 
were  suddenly  aglow,  lips  tremulous. 

"  Kiss  me,  then,"  she  whispered.  "  That's  what  I 
came  for.  Kiss  me,  Jack." 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT'  311 

If  she  had  doubted,  if  she  had  ever  in  the  last  few 
hours  looked  with  misgiving  upon  what  she  felt  herself 
impelled  to  do,  the  pressure  of  Jack  Fyfe's  lips  on  hers 
left  no  room  for  anything  but  an  amazing  thrill  of  pure 
gladness.  She  was  happy  in  his  arms,  content  to  rest 
there,  to  feel  his  heart  beating  against  hers,  to  be  quit 
of  all  the  uncertainties,  all  the  useless  regrets.  By  a 
roundabout  way  she  had  come  to  her  own,  and  it  thrilled 
her  to  her  finger  tips.  She  could  not  quite  comprehend 
it,  or  herself.  But  she  was  glad,  weeping  with  gladness, 
straining  her  man  to  her,  kissing  his  face,  murmuring 
incoherent  words  against  his  breast. 

"  And  so  —  and  so,  after  all,  you  do  care."  Fyfe 
held  her  off  a  little  from  him,  his  sinewy  fingers  gripping 
gently  the  soft  flesh  of  her  arms.  "  And  you  were  big 
enough  to  come  back.  Oh,  my  dear,  you  don't  know 
what  that  means  to  me.  I'm  broke,  and  I'd  just  about 
reached  the  point  where  I  didn't  give  a  damn.  This 
fire  has  cleaned  me  out.  I've  — " 

"  I  know,"  Stella  interrupted.  "  That's  why  I  came 
back.  I  wouldn't  have  come  otherwise,  at  least  not  for 
a  long  time  —  perhaps  never.  It  seemed  as  if  I  ought 
to  —  as  if  it  were  the  least  I  could  do.  Of  course,  it 
looks  altogether  different,  now  that  I  know  I  really 
want  to.  But  you  see  I  didn't  know  that  for  sure  until 
I  saw  you  standing  here.  Oh,  Jack,  there's  such  a  lot 
I  wish  I  could  wipe  out." 

"  It's  wiped  out,"  he  said  happily.  "  The  slate's 
clean.  Fair  weather  didn't  get  us  anywhere.  It  took 
a  storm.  Well,  the  storm's  over." 

She  stirred  uneasily  in  his  arms. 


3i2  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Haven't  you  got  the  least  bit  of  resentment,  Jack, 
for  all  this  trouble  I've  helped  to  brin^  about?"  she 
faltered. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  All  you  did  was 
to  touch  the  fireworks  off.  And  they  might  have  started 
over  anything.  Lord,  no !  Put  that  idea  out  of  your 
head." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  murmured.  "  I  never 
have  quite  understood  why  Monohan  should  attack  you 
with  such  savage  bitterness.  That  trouble  he  started 
on  the  Tyee,  then  this  criminal  firing  of  the  woods. 
I've  had  hints,  first  from  your  sister,  then  from  Linda. 
I  didn't  know  you'd  clashed  before.  I'm  not  very  clear 
on  that  yet.  But  you  knew  all  the  time  what  he  was. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Well,  maybe  I  should  have,"  Fyfe  admitted.  "  But 
I  couldn't  very  well.  Don't  you  see?  He  wasn't  even 
an  incident,  until  he  bobbed  up  and  rescued  you  that 
day.  I  couldn't,  after  that,  start  in  picking  his  char- 
acter to  pieces  as  a  matter  of  precaution.  We  had  a 
sort  of  an  armed  truce.  He  left  me  strictly  alone. 
I'd  trimmed  his  claws  once  or  twice  already.  I  suppose 
he  was  acute  enough  to  see  an  opportunity  to  get  a 
whack  at  me  through  you.  You  were  just  living  from 
day  to  day,  creating  a  world  of  illusions  for  yourself, 
nourishing  yourself  with  dreams,  smarting  under  a 
stifled  regret  for  a  lot  you  thought  you'd  passed  up  for 
good.  He  wasn't  a  factor,  at  first.  When  he  did 
finally  stir  in  you  an  emotion  I  had  failed  to  stir,  it  was 
too  late  for  me  to  do  or  say  anything.  If  I'd  tried,  at 
that  stage  of  the  game,  to  show  you  your  idol's  clay 


"OUT   OF   THE   NIGHT'  313 

feet,  you'd  have  despised  me,  as  well  as  refused  to  be- 
lieve. I  couldn't  do  anything  but  stand  back  and  trust 
the  real  woman  of  you  to  find  out  what  a  quicksand  you 
were  building  your  castle  on.  I  purposely  refused  to 
let  you  go,  when  you  wanted  to  go  away  the  first  time, 
—  partly  on  the  kid's  account,  partly  because  I  could 
hardly  bear  to  let  you  go.  Mostly  because  I  wanted 
to  make  him  boil  over  and  show  his  teeth,  on  the  chance 
that  you'd  be  able  to  size  him  up. 

"  You  see,  I  knew  him  from  the  ground  up.  I  knew 
that  nothing  would  afford  him  a  keener  pleasure  than 
to  take  away  from  me  a  woman  I  cared  for,  and  that 
nothing  would  make  him  squirm  more  than  for  me  to 
check-mate  him.  That  day  I  cuffed  him  and  choked 
him  on  the  Point  really  started  him  properly.  After 
that,  you  —  as  something  to  be  desired  and  possessed  — 
ran  second  to  his  feeling  against  me.  He  was  bound  to 
try  and  play  even,  regardless  of  you.  When  he  pre- 
cipitated that  row  on  the  Tyee,  I  knew  it  was  going  to 
be  a  fight  for  my  financial  life  —  for  my  own  life,  if  he 
ever  got  me  foul.  And  it  was  not  a  thing  I  could  talk 
about  to  you,  in  your  state  of  mind,  then.  You  were 
through  with  me.  Regardless  of  him,  you  were  getting 
farther  and  farther  away  from  me.  I  had  a  long  time 
to  realize  that  fully.  You  had  a  grudge  against  life, 
and  it  was  sort  of  crystallizing  on  me.  You  never 
kissed  me  once  in  all  those  two  years  like  you  kissed  me 
just  now." 

She  pulled  his  head  down  and  kissed  him  again. 

"  So  that  I  wasn't  restraining  you  with  any  hope  for 
my  own  advantage,"  he  went  on.  "  There  was  the  kid, 


3i4  BIG   TIMBER 

and  there  was  you.  I  wanted  to  put  a  brake  on  you, 
to  make  you  go  slow.  You're  a  complex  individual, 
Stella.  Along  with  certain  fixed,  fundamental  princi- 
ples, you've  got  a  streak  of  divine  madness  in  you,  a 
capacity  for  reckless  undertakings.  You'd  never  have 
married  me  if  you  hadn't.  I  trusted  you  absolutely. 
But,  I  was  afraid  in  spite  of  my  faith.  You  had  draped 
such  an  idealistic  mantle  around  Monohan.  I  wanted 
to  rend  that  before  it  came  to  a  final  separation  between 
us.  It  worked  out,  because  he  couldn't  resist  try- 
ing to  take  a  crack  at  me  when  the  notion  seized 
him. 

"  So,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  you  aren't  re- 
sponsible, and  I've  never  considered  you  responsible  for 
any  of  this.  It's  between  him  and  me,  and  it's  been 
shaping  for  years.  Whenever  our  trails  crossed  there 
was  bound  to  be  a  clash.  There's  always  been  a  natural 
personal  antagonism  between  us.  It  began  to  show 
when  we  were  kids,  you  might  say.  Monohan's  nature 
is  such  that  he  can't  acknowledge  defeat,  he  can't  deny 
himself  a  gratification.  He's  a  supreme  egotist.  He's 
always  had  plenty  of  money,  he's  always  had  whatever 
he  wanted,  and  it  never  mattered  to  him  how  he  gratified 
his  desires. 

"  The  first  time  we  locked  horns  was  in  my  last  year 
at  high  school.  Monohan  was  a  star  athlete.  I  beat 
him  in  a  pole  vault.  That  irked  him  so  that  he  sulked 
and  sneered,  and  generally  made  himself  so  insulting 
that  I  slapped  him.  We  fought,  and  I  whipped  him. 
I  had  a  temper  that  I  hadn't  learned  to  keep  in  hand 
those  days,  and  I  nearly  killed  him.  I  had  nothing  but 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT'  315 

contempt  for  him,  anyway,  because  even  then,  when  he 
wasn't  quite  twenty,  he  was  a  woman  hunter,  preying 
on  silly  girls.  I  don't  know  what  his  magic  with  women 
is,  but  it  works,  until  they  find  him  out.  He  was  play- 
ing off  two  or  three  fool  girls  that  I  knew  and  at  the 
same  time  keeping  a  woman  in  apartments  down-town, — 
a  girl  he'd  picked  up  on  a  trip  to  Georgia, —  like  any 
confirmed  rounder. 

"  Well,  from  that  time  on,  he  hated  me,  always  laid 
for  a  chance  to  sting  me.  We  went  to  Princeton  the 
same  year.  We  collided  there,  so  hard  that  when  word 
of  it  got  to  my  father's  ears,  he  called  me  home  and 
read  the  riot  act  so  strong  that  I  flared  up  and  left. 
Then  I  came  to  the  coast  here  and  got  a  job  in  the 
woods,  got  to  be  a  logging  boss,  and  went  into  business 
on  my  own  hook  eventually.  I'd  just  got  nicely  started 
when  I  ran  into  Monohan  again.  He'd  got  into  timber 
himself.  I  was  hand  logging  up  the  coast,  and  I'd  hate 
to  tell  you  the  tricks  he  tried.  He  kept  it  up  until  I 
got  too  big  to  be  harassed  in  a  petty  way.  Then  he 
left  me  alone.  But  he  never  forgot  his  grudge.  The 
stage  was  all  set  for  this  act  long  before  you  gave  him 
his  cue,  Stella.  You  weren't  to  blame  for  that,  or  if 
you  were  in  part,  it  doesn't  matter  now.  I'm  satisfied. 
Paradoxically  I  feel  rich,  even  though  it's  a  long  shot 
that  I'm  broke  flat.  I've  got  something  money  doesn't 
buy.  And  he  has  overreached  himself  at  last.  All  his 
money  and  pull  won't  help  him  out  of  this  jack 
pot.  Arson  and  attempted  murder  is  serious  busi- 
ness." 

"  They  caught  him,"  Stella  said.     "  The  constables 


3i6  BIG   TIMBER 

took  him  down  the  lake  to-night.  I  saw  him  on  their 
launch  as  they  passed  the  Waterbug." 

"Yes?"  Fyfe  said.  "Quick  work.  I  didn't  even 
know  about  the  shooting  till  I  came  in  here  to-night 
about  dark.  Well,"  he  snapped  his  fingers,  "  exit 
Monohan.  He's  a  dead  issue,  far  as  we're  concerned. 
Wouldn't  you  like  something  to  eat,  Stella?  I'm  hun- 
gry, and  I  was  dog-tired  when  I  landed  here.  Say,  you 
can't  guess  what  I  was  thinking  about,  lady,  standing 
there  when  you  came  in." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  had  a  crazy  notion  of  touching  a  match  to  the 
house,"  he  said  soberly,  "  letting  it  go  up  in  smoke  with 
the  rest.  Yes,  that's  what  I  was  thinking  I  would  do. 
Then  I'd  take  the  Panther  and  what  gear  I  have  on  the 
scows  and  pull  off  Roaring  Lake.  It  didn't  seem  as  if 
I  could  stay.  I'd  laid  the  foundation  of  a  fortune  here 
and  tried  to  make  a  home  —  and  lost  it  all,  everything 
that  was  worth  having.  And  then  all  at  once  there  you 
were,  like  a  vision  in  the  door.  Miracles  do  happen !  " 

Her  arms  tightened  involuntarily  about  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "  Our  little,  white 
house ! " 

"  Without  you,"  he  replied  softly,  "  it  was  just  an 
empty  shell  of  boards  and  plaster,  something  to  make 
me  ache  with  loneliness." 

"  But  not  now,"  she  murmured.     "  It's  home,  now." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  smiling. 

"  Ah,  but  it  isn't  quite."  She  choked  down  a  lump  in 
her  throat.  "  Not  when  I  think  of  those  little  feet  that 
used  to  patter  on  the  floor.  Oh,  Jack  —  when  I  think 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT"  317 

of  my  baby  boy!  My  dear,  my  dear,  why  did  all  this 
have  to  be,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Fyfe  stroked  her  glossy  coils  of  hair. 

"  We  get  nothing  of  value  without  a  price,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  Except  by  rare  accident,  nothing  that's 
worth  having  comes  cheap  and  easy.  We've  paid  the 
price,  and  we're  square  with  the  world  and  with  each 
other.  That's  everything." 

"  Are  you  completely  ruined,  Jack?  "  she  asked  after 
an  interval.  "  Charlie  said  you  were." 

"  Well,"  he  answered  reflectively,  "  I  haven't  had  time 
to  balance  accounts,  but  I  guess  I  will  be.  The  timber's 
gone.  I've  saved  most  of  the  logging  gear.  But  if  I 
realized  on  everything  that's  left,  and  squared  up  every- 
thing, I  guess  I'd  be  pretty  near  strapped." 

"  Will  you  take  me  in  as  a  business  partner,  Jack?  " 
she  asked  eagerly.  "  That's  what  I  had  in  mind  when 
I  came  up  here.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  propose  that, 
after  I'd  heard  you  were  ruined.  Oh,  it  seems  silly 
now,  but  I  wanted  to  make  amends  that  way ;  at  least, 
I  tried  to  tell  myself  that.  Listen.  When  my  father 
died,  he  left  some  supposedly  worthless  oil  stock.  But 
it  proved  to  have  a  market  value.  I  got  my  share  of 
it  the  other  day.  It'll  help  us  to  make  a  fresh  start  — 
together." 

She  had  the  envelope  and  the  check  tucked  inside  her 
waist.  She  took  it  out  now  and  pressed  the  green  slip 
into  his  hand. 

Fyfe  looked  at  it  and  at  her,  a  little  chuckle  deep  in 
his  throat. 

"  Nineteen    thousand,    five    hundred,"    he    laughed. 


3i8  BIG   TIMBER 

"  Well,  that's  quite  a  stake  for  you.  But  if  you  go 
partners  with  me,  what  about  your  singing?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  have  my  cake  and  eat  it,  too," 
she  said  lightly.  "  I  don't  feel  quite  so  eager  for  a 
career  as  I  did." 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  he  said.  "That  light  of  yours 
shouldn't  be  hidden  under  a  bushel.  And  still,  I  don't 
like  the  idea  of  you  being  away  from  me,  which  a  career 
implies." 

He  put  the  check  back  in  the  envelope,  smiling  oddly 
to  himself,  and  tucked  it  back  in  her  bosom.  She  caught 
and  pressed  his  hand  there,  against  the  soft  flesh. 

"  Won't  you  use  it,  Jack?  "  she  pleaded.  "  Won't  it 
help?  Don't  let  any  silly  pride  influence  you.  There 
mustn't  ever  be  anything  like  that  between  us  again." 

"  There  won't  be,"  he  smiled.  "  Frankly,  if  I  need 
it,  I'll  use  it.  But  that's  a  matter  there's  plenty  of 
time  to  decide.  You  see,  although  technically  I  may  be 
broke,  I'm  a  long  way  from  the  end  of  my  tether.  I 
think  I'll  have  my  working  outfit  clear,  and  the  coun- 
try's full  of  timber.  I've  got  a  standing  in  the  busi- 
ness that  neither  fire  nor  anything  else  can  destroy. 
No,  I  haven't  any  false  pride  about  the  money,  dear. 
But  the  money  part  of  our  future  is  a  detail.  With  the 
incentive  I've  got  now  to  work  and  plan,  it  won't  take 
me  five  years  to  be  a  bigger  toad  in  the  timber  puddle 
than  I  ever  was.  You  don't  know  what  a  dynamo  I 
am  when  I  get  going." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that,"  she  said  proudly.  "  But  the 
money's  yours,  if  you  need  it." 

"  I  need  something  else  a  good  deal  more  right  now," 


"OUT    OF    THE    NIGHT'  319 

he  laughed.  "  That's  something  to  eat.  Aren't  you 
hungry,  Stella?  Wouldn't  you  like  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee?" 

"  I'm  famished,"  she  admitted  —  the  literal  truth. 
The  vaulting  uplift  of  spirit,  that  glad  little  song  that 
kept  lilting  in  her  heart,  filled  her  with  peace  and  con- 
tentment, but  physically  she  was  beginning  to  experience 
acute  hunger.  She  recalled  that  she  had  eaten  scarcely 
anything  that  day. 

"  We'll  go  down  to  the  camp,"  Fyfe  suggested. 
"  The  cook  will  have  something  left.  We're  camping 
like  pioneers  down  there.  The  shacks  were  all  burned, 
and  somebody  sank  the  cookhouse  scow." 

They  went  down  the  path  to  the  bay,  hand  in  hand, 
feeling  their  way  through  that  fire-blackened  area, 
under  a  black  sky. 

A  red  eye  glowed  ahead  of  them,  a  fire  on  the  beach 
around  which  men  squatted  on  their  haunches  or  lay 
stretched  on  their  blankets,  sooty-faced  fire  fighters,  a 
weary  group.  The  air  was  rank  with  smoke  wafted 
from  the  burning  woods. 

The  cook's  fire  was  dead,  and  that  worthy  was 
humped  on  his  bed-roll  smoking  a  pipe.  But  he  had 
cold  meat  and  bread,  and  he  brewed  a  pot  of  coffee  on 
the  big  fire  for  them,  and  Stella  ate  the  plain  fare,  sit- 
ting in  the  circle  of  tired  loggers. 

"  Poor  fellows,  they  look  worn  out,"  she  said,  when 
they  were  again  traversing  that  black  road  to  the 
bungalow. 

"  We've  slept  standing  up  for  three  weeks,"  Fyfe 
said  simply.  "  They've  done  everything  they  could. 


320  BIG    TIMBER 

And  we're  not  through  yet.  A  north  wind  might  set 
Charlie's  timber  afire  in  a  dozen  places." 

"  Oh,  for  a  rain,"  she  sighed. 

"  If  wishing  for  rain  brought  it,"  he  laughed,  "  we'd 
have  had  a  second  flood.  We've  got  to  keep  pegging 
away  till  it  does  rain,  that's  all.  We  can't  do  much, 
but  we  have  to  keep  doing  it.  You'll  have  to  go  back 
to  the  Springs  to-morrow,  I'm  afraid,  Stella.  I'll  have 
to  stay  on  the  firing  line,  literally." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  she  cried  rebelliously.  "  I  want 
to  stay  up  here  with  you.  I'm  not  wax.  I  won't 
melt." 

She  continued  that  argument  into  the  house,  until 
Fyfe  laughingly  smothered  her  speech  with  kisses. 

An  oddly  familiar  sound  murmuring  in  Stella's  ear 
wakened  her.  At  first  she  thought  she  must  be  dream- 
ing. It  was  still  inky  dark,  but  the  air  that  blew  in 
at  the  open  window  was  sweet  and  cool,  filtered  of  that 
choking  smoke.  She  lifted  herself  warily,  looked  out, 
reached  a  hand  through  the  lifted  sash.  Wet  drops 
spattered*  •  it.  The  sound  she  heard  was  the  drip  of 
eaves,  the  beat  of  rain  on  the  charred  timber,  upon  the 
dried  grass  of  the  lawn. 

Beside  her  Fyfe  was  a  dim  bulk,  sleeping  the  dead 
slumber  of  utter  weariness.  She  hesitated  a  minute, 
then  shook  him. 

"  Listen,  Jack,"  she  said. 

He  lifted  his  head. 

"  Rain !  "  he  whispered.  "  Good  night,  Mister  Fire. 
Hooray!" 


"OUT    OF   THE    NIGHT"  321 

"  I  brought  it,"  Stella  murmured  sleepily.  "  I 
wished  it  on  Roaring  Lake  to-night." 

Then  she  slipped  her  arm  about  his  neck,  and  drew 
his  face  down  to  her  breast  with  a  tender  fierceness,  and 
closed  her  eyes  with  a  contented  sigh. 


THE    END 


By  the  author  of  "Big  Timber" 


NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE 


By  BERTRAND  W.  SINCLAIR 

Illustrated.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.30  net. 


He  has  created  the  atmosphere  of  the  frozen  North  with 
wonderful  realism.  —  Boston  Globe. 

Mr.  Sinclair's  two  characters  are  exceptionally  well-drawn  and 
sympathetic.  His  style  is  robust  and  vigorous.  His  pictures  of 
Canadian  life  stimulating.  —  New  York  Nation. 

Mr.  Sinclair  sketches  with  bold  strokes  as  befits  a  subject  set 
amid  limitless  surroundings.  The  book  is  readable  and  shows 
consistent  progress  in  the  art  of  novel  writing.— St.  Louis  Globe- 
Democrat. 

An  unusually  good  story  of  the  conflict  between  a  man  and  a 
woman.  It  is  a  readable,  well  written  book  showing  much  observa- 
tion and  good  sense.  The  hero  is  a  fine  fellow  and  manages  to 
have  his  fling  at  a  good  many  conventions  without  being  tedious. 
—  New  York  Sun. 

The  story  is  well  written.  It  is  rich  in  strong  situation,  romance 
and  heart-stirring  scenes,  both  of  the  emotional  and  courage- 
stirring  order.  It  ranks  with  the  best  of  its  type.  —  Springfield 
Republican. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  Beacon  St.,  Boston. 


H  CORPS  AREA 


ACC.  NO. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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